


Transient Time Traveller

by Makoninah



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Autistic Character, Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dual POV, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Romance, Royalty, Time Travel, gay cottagecore grandmas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 116,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makoninah/pseuds/Makoninah
Summary: TRANSIENT TIME TRAVELLER is a new-adult fantasy novel about passionate historians, royal heirs, and mischievous time meddlers. The story follows Aida, a time traveller who’s greatly interested in dead queens, and Lorian, a genderfluid, runaway princess who wants to become an officer and serve her country. When the two meet up upon happenstance, they accidentally run into their mysterious and mischievous future selves who’re seemingly bent on teasing their past lives, and the two task Aida and Lorian on an impossible mission: change the future.
Kudos: 17





	1. Six Weeks Before

Aida’s life was forever changed when she received a letter in the mail.

She never got letters. Being adopted into a small family in a smaller farm in Bělico didn’t bless her with birthday gifts or congratulatory mail. She estimated that no one other than her stepmother and her stepsisters knew of her existence, so Aida ghosted through life without much interference.

But she knew this letter, had been anticipating it for weeks since she’d sent in her application under her mother’s nose. It was handwritten on high-quality paper, the feeling new to her, foreign, and was branded with the seal of the Roman lion. She’d dreamt of getting these royal letters in the mail, wishful hope turning into dread come nighttime, but she hadn’t thought she'd receive a reply, let alone a letter of acceptance.

She’d been tending to the farm, or the cows, mainly. The chickens, pigs, sheep, and goats had been taken care of and her stepmother and stepsisters had their two horses out on a carriage ride to the village, so all that was left to handle was their five highland cows. Big, burly creatures more fur than hide. It took Aida more time to heave the heavy bales of hay into their stables, to groom them, wash them, clean out their troughs. She’d hadn’t even heard the post carrier arrive, she’d been on the other side of the property. When she realized her family would be home soon, she hurried to get everything done so her stepmother would be in a better mood. Well, a less shit one.

There was one piece of mail that day, and it’d been addressed to Aida.

When her mother and sister finally came home and found Aida on the floor, frantically rereading the letter with the envelope torn with her teeth, they must’ve assumed she’d had jumped and was writhing in pain as a result.

She was writhing, but not because she’d travelled backwards in time. Her brain was spinning, eyes watering due to some type of emotion she couldn’t name. After fighting for years, she’d finally earned this damned six-year scholarship to Durante Academy.

Not that wanting to dorm at a school named after King Durante’s lineage was something she was excited about. She detested almost everything the royal family did, and she didn’t even live in Roma. Roma, or Roma City, was 1,500 kilometers away, across the sea and doing far better for itself than her home country of snow-covered farmlands. She should’ve loathed becoming a student in the country with the bloodiest warpath, the worst, most prejudiced ruler, and the shittiest armed forces since the time of gladiators.

But how she’d dreamed of walking through those academic halls, taking in the prestigious lessons in fervor and staying up late to perfect a soon-to-be perfectly marked test. Schools in Bělico, you were expected to drop out of after primary school to work your family’s farms. It made sense for some people. Agriculture was the biggest export for the country, so families expected many hands to tend to the fields.

But that wasn’t Aida’s path. Ever since she’d been adopted, Aida Mirko had set her sights on becoming a historian, and that path was only attainable in the sparkling, problematic country of Roma.

It was only after Aida heard her mother slam the door did she realize her mistake: being indulgent.

“What’re y’all doing?” one of her stepsisters, Ekaterina, asked.

“You tracked in mud,” her other sister, Olga, said. She had her upper lip curled as she looked over where Aida had run in from the fields.

Her mother looked over the mess Aida had made, then at the letter still in her hand.

Then she slapped her across the cheek and sent her glasses across the living room.

She should’ve expected it. How dare her. Here she was, trying to better herself in a world where most people wanted her kind dead, and she’d just been accepted into one of the world’s most prestigious academies known in Roma. It had only a seven percent acceptance rate. To any parent, that would’ve been cause for celebration.

Her mother grabbed Aida by the collar and dragged her upstairs to her room. Her mother and sisters lived downstairs near the warm fireplaces, while Aida had the joy of taking the stairs she struggled with and lived in the cold attic at the top of the steps. She had a fucking cane and a limp, and these people couldn’t care less.

“Mo’mma, wait—”

Her mother slammed the bedroom door behind her. “How _dare_ you?”

Aida fell backwards into her bed.

“You ain’t going,” she decided. “You have obligations _here_. You work the farm, you care for us. How selfish can you be, leaving all of that to become a damned academic?”

“I want…to be a historian,” Aida said, trying so hard to carefully explain something she’d wanted for years. With her limp, it was difficult to do any sort of manual labor. She got tired easily, her dizzy spells were becoming more frequent. Her sisters, they weren’t expected to do half the chores she was forced to do, yet she did them. She hated herself, but she did as she was told because it gave her a roof over her head and food on the table and a bed to dream about a life better than this. In the rare hours she had for sleep, she studied and overworked her abilities to prove that a Visatorre deserved to learn, something that’d been barred from her people for centuries.

She didn’t expect praise, or admiration. She couldn’t dream like that. All she wished was for her mother to stop hitting her. She didn’t know why she was selfish asking that. 

Her mother stood tall over her. “You ain’t going.”

Aida fixed her broken glasses over her nose. “I was accepted.”

“I ain’t paying for it.”

“I know that.”

“What do you mean ‘I know that’? You _won’t_ be able to afford it. The journey ’cross the sea alone is ten gold.”

To her mother, it’d seem that way, but Aida had been saving up. For years, she’d been putting away her childhood allowance underneath the broken floorboard next to her bed. After turning fifteen, her mother had stopped paying her for her work. Aida had thought it was because her mother had finally seen her as a daughter more than a servant. Then she found out Ekaterina’s and Olga’s allowance had doubled.

So, she’d taken to writing school papers for the local village kids. Those who were able to write had trouble forming their thoughts in persuasive essays, so Aida wrote them top-grade papers about history, war, massacres of her own people and the rise of these dictatorships she hated, all behind her mother’s back. If her mother had found that out, she would’ve thrown Aida into the village stockades for lying because “Visatorre folk weren’t smart like normal folk.”

“I have the money,” Aida summarized.

“I don’t care if you got a _fortune_! Y’all ain’t gonna throw away your life and waste it on an academy when you’re needed here.”

“I’ll be gone, isn’t that what you’d want?” she shot back, the fear of speaking back pitching her voice. “I’ll be gone for six whole years, and I swear, whatever money I make—”

“ _‘Money I make’,_ she says. What money you gonna make there? You know Roma don’t take well to you folk as well as Bělico people do. You’ll be ridiculed. You’ll be ostracized.”

 _“So how different would it be from here?”_ Aida wanted to ask. Circa, how she wished she was brave enough to say that. If she’d been high, that defiance would’ve come out, but it would’ve only resulted in her being hit harder.

Aida lowered her head, feigning a defeat.

Her mother harrumphed and tied up her brown hair in a messy bun. “That’s what I thought. Now.” She held out her hand. Aida flinched. “Give me that letter.”

“No,” Aida said. “Please, just…let me keep it. For memory’s sake.”

Her mother rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her apron. “Get up and help with the groceries, since you didn’t want to help when we came in. The rest are in the carriage.”

Aida nodded and went for her cane. It was a dark, simple thing made from a tree branch in the woods around them.

Her mother kicked it and knocked it into the wall. The force made it tip and spill Aida’s half-filled drinking glass to the ground.

Aida froze.

“Realize your stance in this house,” her mother warned, “and stop making such foolish decisions behind my back.”

“I will,” Aida said, and waited for her mother to leave down the stairs, where she heard her sisters whispering about what their mother had just told their servant daughter.

She gripped her cane as tightly as she could. The one thing about being in your twenties was that, while you might’ve been afraid of your parents and they’d wrecked your self-confidence and self-worth beyond recognition for more than a decade, if you had the money and the drive to defy the Gods, you could change your future for the better.

After hearing her mother leave, Aida went for her travel bags.

* * *

Nights at the Mirko household came early, as they—she—had to get up at four in the morning to take care of the livestock. Feed them, gather the eggs, change the hay, sweep out both barns, weed out the gardens. Aida half-expected her mother to put more energy into their own livelihood instead of working on how to destroy her own daughter’s confidence, but she couldn’t expect much of anything from them anymore.

Aida _knew_ she was smart. She wouldn’t have gotten her scholarship if she hadn’t been. All the years of extra-credit and letter after letter of recommendations had paid off. It didn’t matter what her mother thought of her. She would reclaim her dignity without her.

The night she received her letter, Aida woke up at three and began packing. It’d taken a chunk of her savings to leave now, as she’d planned to leave later towards the school year where travel costs decreased, but she’d manage. She always did. She currently had seventy pieces of gold lyria to her name. It wasn’t much—it barely covered a month’s worth of groceries for her family—but if she used it right, it’d get her a life without them in it.

Because, in all her twenty-three years of living, she knew that “family” could go fuck themselves with how much good they did for her.

She dressed in a black dress fit for the night and braided her hair in her favorite way, down her front in two braids that never seemed even. She was bigger than most girls: both of her sisters’ weights combined. She hoped the school uniforms could accommodate her, and that they weren’t tacky. She needed a self-esteem boost, not a downgrade from what clothes she’d been given.

After packing her non-essentials, she got to work packing the more important items: her journals, thick with cut-outs and pictures from used books she’d pasted into it; her history texts on the once luxurious country of Siina and its murdered queen; the first book in the _En Tempore Rose_ sextet _, Pinnacle Isle_ ; and the signed playbooks from the opera-ballet adaptation she’d bartered for in exchange for an eight-page essay.

She’d gone to see the opera once, and by “seen,” she meant she’d snuck away into the theatre for ten minutes during a family trip to Roma City when she was six. It’d been during a trading festival where they earned their summer wealth. She’d snuck into the massive theater constructed within the colosseum and caught the last few minutes of the performance before being discovered.

She’d been beaten so hard that she didn’t remember much of the opera, but she remembered loving it. Those few minutes near the stage that made her heart stop and restart with the love of her favorite stories, both real and imaginary. The ballerinas dressed in snow-white lace, the glitter that danced from the rafters. It’d sparked her desire to be a ballerina before she found out that Visatorre were neither allowed to be performers on the stage nor were they allowed to even watch a costly opera to begin with. They were a “risk” to those around them if they travelled backwards into time.

At least she had her journals. She had a dozen or so hand-bound journals she’d made herself because God knew her mother wouldn’t have bought them for her. They detailed her favorite moments in history. Nothing of wars or tyrannical, egotistical kings she couldn’t stand learning about. She was interested in the people, the interpersonal relationships between the royal families and their citizens. Their dresses, the food they ate, the ways they lived their menial lives a millennia ago.

And Eve, a magnificent, tolerant queen to a dead city-state that once held 100,000 Visatorre within its peaceful walls. Aida loved her, knew everything about her life from the minute she was born to the day she was executed. Her city-state, Siina, had once been a well-established community within Roma that could’ve rivaled the country in time.

History said Eve had murdered the Roman king’s wife, so in retaliation, he’d killed her, her lineage, and all 100,000 Visatorre of Siina, burying them within the Catacombs underneath Roma City.

Aida knew for a fact that that part of history was wrong. She’d written papers and thesis on Eve for years, and she couldn’t see the dead queen dipping so far as to murder someone she should’ve seen as an ally. She’d been a young, proud, dedicated Visatorre that housed and raised and loved the biggest population of Visatorre the world had ever seen. Yes, she was rash with some of her decision-making, and she might’ve been labeled “eccentric” in today’s terms, but to murder someone so powerful for no reason, it didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense.

So, Aida was bent on becoming a historian, to rewrite the history books with the truth rather than the propagated schlock crammed down their throats.

After zipping up her final bag, she readied her three-kilometer-long walk to the village. It was mostly leveled terrain, but still, it always burdened her legs. One bad jump six years ago had fucked up her hips, or her back, or her spine, or all three, given her exceptionally bad luck. No doctor had a concrete reason as to why Visatorre were injured when they jumped into the past, they only knew the farther back you went, the worse you came back. Some Visatorre who’d jump 100, 200 years back would come back burning from the inside or with missing limbs, screaming in pain until they needed to take something to their skull to mask the pain. Aida, with all that was stacked up against her, always considered herself lucky that she only needed a cane to get around.

She closed the garden gates slowly, taking the back entrance so she didn’t wake the easily spooked ducks. No more farmlands, no more chores done by six and being hit behind closed doors. Despite years of fucking up, making her think she was useless, too slow, too stupid to be anything more than a servant in her own home, Aida was to mentally burn this place to the ground with her accomplishments.

Or physically, if she became so bold and dire for actual jail time.

She paused at the start of the cow field, eyes darting left and right. While she wouldn’t burn down the farm—she couldn’t hurt the animals—she could do something else. Something more.

She crept into the chicken coop and burgled twenty-four of the largest eggs, enough to keep her fed for a few days, and another six for the carriage. Not hers, but her mother’s, or the one she’d already promised for Olga when she eventually married. Keeping her movements quiet, Aida smashed her extra eggs into the seats and dug the yolk deep into the hides. Then she took charcoal she always kept in her dress pockets and ruined one side of the barn in graffiti. She dumped the milk she’d gotten for that day, she let the chickens loose from the coop. Dumped the drinking water over the hay, overturned the trough. Everything she could do to make her family’s life horrible, but not enough to send an officer after her.

 _If_ they connected it to a Visatorre’s doing, she might’ve had one on her tail. Luckily, she wasn’t planning on ever coming back.

She paced herself as she made her way into the village. Idti, a racist outcropping of 500 farmers who’d sell their own daughters for a lick of gold. She kept a knife in her pocket when walking down the dirt roads, waiting to hear someone run up behind her and rob her. Luckily, the carriage house she was planning on using was close to the main road. Beyond the village stretched out a long path to the sea. She could almost smell the cold, salty air.

One driver was smoking near his carriage and reading the paper with his boots kicked up. As Aida neared with lantern and cane in hand, he gave her a look. He made no attempt to hide his ogling at her Visatorre marking: a white circle engraved in the middle of her forehead. Every Visatorre obtained one the first time they travelled, but that didn’t stop non-Visatorre from staring like she had three legs.

“I need a ride to the harbor,” Aida said, keeping her face devoid of emotion.

“Now?” the driver asked.

“Not yesterday,” she said, and gave him three of her gold lyria coins. “The quicker, the better.”

At the sight of priceless gold, the driver instantly folded his paper and sat up. “You’re the Visatorre girl who works up at that farm, ain’t you?”

“Aye.” She took out one of her own cigarettes and had him light it for her. She needed one after this week, and her mother hated the smell in the house. “Let’s say I got fired.”

“Didn’t you live there?”

“Didn’t you need to bring me to the harbor?”

The man clicked his tongue and helped her with her bags.

She took one long inhale as she surveyed the land. The morning birds had yet to begin their songs, and the lack of light let the Moon and stars shine over the country, painting it a deep blue.

“Did you hear the news?” the driver asked, making unneeded small talk. “The princess of Roma, Lucia, she just went missing. Paper’s sayin’ she vanished from her own wedding. Say she got kidnapped or something.”

“Wouldn’t be a change from what we see,” Aida said. While the royal family now was in charge of what she did, she didn’t care for them nearly as much as she cared for the dead ones. The dead ones had more of a history to them that always intrigued her. Plus, she never saw the two twin princesses. One had been married off to the shitstain of Bělico’s King Dmitri as a kid, the other barely left the palace. What was the difference if she went missing?

“Do you think they’ll find her?” asked the driver.

In the distance, Aida saw the faint outline of her home. Her _mother’s_ home—it had never belonged to her. Her mother _had_ tried to be a good mother when she’d first adopted Aida, but the years had tainted her into a villain Aida couldn’t wait to see get their comeuppance.

She gave her home the finger and hopped into the carriage. “Who cares about some dumb princess?”


	2. Six Weeks Before, Continued

Lorian had dreamed about escaping her bedroom through the window. She never thought it would be her last-ditch effort to save her life.

She wasn’t in life-threatening danger. She wasn’t going to die if she stayed the night. Acted proper. Went back downstairs and apologized to her wedding guests, and let Prince Zaahir take her hand like she’d been proclaimed to do since she was six.

That wouldn’t kill her per se, but if it came to that, she’d kill herself. No remorse, no second thoughts. She’d warned her parents that if they followed through with the marriage, it would’ve been the final straw out of the many that they’d already broken for her.

Well, her father had. Everyone knew that despite being the reigning queen, it was Lorian’s father who controlled the country.

That night, after tearing up the wedding dress and ruining every last piece of notable art she had left in her bedroom, Lorian had collapsed into her bed and sobbed so hard, she’d thrown up. Out of everything her parents forced her through, this marriage was the one constant. Let her ruin her dresses, let her throw her infamous temper tantrums hidden from the country. But this marriage, just like her sister’s, would happen. Alliances needed to be formed between the three major countries of the world to keep war at bay, and it’d happen whether she liked it or not. Country before individual. Alliances before children.

The only way out was death.

She’d contemplated it, then kicked herself and fought for another way out. She couldn’t end it here. She had to show her parents that she did have aspirations, just ones outside of royal duties.

The giant clock just outside of Lorian’s room chimed for eleven. Per Roman customs, the wedding kiss would occur at the stroke of midnight, and so far, Lorian hadn’t let any of her maids or officers near her. Not even her own family had come into her room, though they’d tried.

First, her mother, whose frail knocks almost made her heart break. Then her twin sister, Beatrice, born only twelve minutes earlier and thus married off first to a man older than their father. Her methodical, emotionless explanation as to why this needed to marry Zaahir made Lorian break a vase to get her to stop talking.

Carmine was the last person to come. He was the queen’s right-hand man—a Constable, the highest rank given to officers—and childhood friend of the queen. He was the most sympathetic about Lorian’s plight, she’d give him that, but he, like the rest of them, told her to come downstairs and finish what was destined for her. He used to be better, back when he was more a family friend who wasn’t weighed down my medals of honor, but those days were gone, as was Carmine’s carefree nature. It’d been replaced with duties that outweighed Lorian’s happiness.

Her father didn’t come up to check on her.

But she didn’t need any more of his anger tonight. Nobody could talk her into this. She had her mind set, and it was anywhere else but this godforsaken palace.

The only one she’d let come near was Missus Sharma. She’d been Lorian’s and Beatrice’s nursemaid since they were in the womb. She’d taught Lorian mathematics, both the piano and violin, and had guided Lorian through speech therapy to get rid of her lisp yet failed. She also knew almost all of Lorian’s secrets, all of her hidden passions without the threads of marriage and princesshood dragging her down.

Lorian had told her, last year, that she didn’t want to be a princess any longer.

“I know your frustrations, Your Highness,” she’d said, this sixty-year-old maid who deserved so much more than what Lorian gave her.

She _didn’t_ know, however, so when Lorian explained more, that she didn’t want to be a princess, or Lucia, or only a woman but something more, something different, that’d puzzled her. Her generation still lived in the mindset that’d fizzled out during this ruling—people could be who they wanted to be, whether they were a boy, girl, neither, or something in-between.

Those rights weren’t given to royal heirs, especially when it involved the procreation of royal children.

Lorian held her stomach as she thought of a way out of this. Even though she was still figuring out her identity, she was sure as fuck not marrying Zaahir for the sole purpose of bearing children. That thought was so far out of her comfort zone, it was off her radar.

Frustrated by her dwindling time limit, Lorian groaned, took the last of her pillows she hadn’t torn, and threw it against her writing desk. It scattered the letters she’d tried to write to her parents only for her to rip them up because, while his mother might hear her out, her father wouldn’t listen. He never did.

A letter fell to her ornate rug. It was hidden behind one of her jewelry boxes and slipped out when the box fell. It didn’t have a name on it, but it’d been stamped with her family’s seal.

Curious, Lorian picked it up.

* * *

_Out the window & down to the forest. _

_Good luck._

* * *

She flipped over the note to read the rest, but that was it. It wasn’t even signed, meaning the person didn’t want to be traced back. She examined the handwriting, but that didn’t click either. It looked like the person, whoever had written it, had concealed their own personhood to make the letter untraceable.

She looked back at her door. It was locked, as well as barricaded with her wardrobe. Nobody was coming in any time soon.

She crept towards the window that faced the outer walls. In the past, they were meant to keep enemies out, like the fallen city-state of Siina. It’d once been a wealthy state where most of the Visatorre population lived some 1,200 years back. Tensions back then had been high, she was taught. Visatorre were seen as part-God, part-monster, these people who could travel, or “jump,” back in time for hours to witness a single moment in history. Stories had been created around them, painting them as the voyeuristic, nosy ghosts that deserved all the pain their jumps caused them.

Her father despised time travellers for their unpredictable powers, but he never brought it up to the public. They were a reminder of a bloody history most Romans wanted to forget, but Lorian hadn’t forgotten. She knew that the queen of Siina had murdered the Roman king due to some type of disagreement, and as punishment, she, her lineage, and all 100,000 Siinans had been brutally slaughtered in an unfair and unjust bloodbath.

Lorian grit her teeth. She hated it. She’d hated it ever since it was taught to her by her scholars and meant to sound like a victory. It wasn’t. It was the royal family’s insatiable bloodlust, and it was all the more reason why she wanted nothing more to do with the crown trying to be placed over her head.

The orchestra music from her own wedding ceremony echoed from outside. Six hundred people had been invited and were likely all dining and eating and placing bets as to whether or not Lorian would come down by midnight.

So it was odd that out of all of these guests and bustling maids and officers in the palace tonight, nobody saw Lorian’s horse, Ether, nibbling on the flowers next to the palace walls. She was bridled and had on her saddle, but it wasn’t the official, royally-sanctioned one with all the gold and rubies stitched into it, it was Lorian’s personal riding one that was worn and made of coarse leather.

And attached to Lorian’s windowsill, weighted down so as not to blow in the summer night air, was a silk bedsheet tied into other bedsheets: a less than perfect escape ladder.

Lorian pressed her lips together. Who’d set this up for her? She’d dreamed of this day for years, and it only became more real that week.

She touched the start of the makeshift ladder. It’d been tied several times behind her window and secured behind the jewelry box. Not even Missus’ Sharma would’ve seen anything awry.

Lorian turned so quickly on her heel, she tripped on the rug given to her by her mother’s mother. She pulled out the drawers of her second wardrobe not currently holding back the only door to the room and packed what she considered to be her real clothes. No dresses, nothing that was too uncomfortable to wear. She did pack her corsets to bind her chest and hide her hips. She didn’t hate her body; her boobs were fun to play with when she was in the bath or getting ready for bed. They just meant too much to her past self, and she didn’t want to remember that.

She would no longer be Lucia Maria Carolus Durante di Romano, future princess to the country of Roma and Aldaí.

She would be Lorian. Lorian…

Something. If she was going to run away, she’d have to change her surname, but she’d only landed on “Lorian” when she was a child, a nonsense name that meshed her name with Carmine’s father’s name. That was back when she respected him.

Despite living here all her life, she had nothing of real importance. Clothing she felt comfortable in, 350 pieces of gold lyria she kept in case she ever decided to really run away, utensils—she ate quite a lot in her room. She grabbed documents with her father’s and Carmine’s signatures in case she needed to forge them for her new life, and she kept her signet ring and skeleton key because she was sentimental like that. She had her dagger because her rapiers would be too long and too distracting on the run. She wouldn’t need a map because she knew the whole layout of the kingdom by heart. As for her underwear…

She looked at the dagger in her hand, then at herself in the mirror. The blond hair she’d tied up in a ponytail to get it out of her face still curled to the middle of her back. She liked her hair; it was a staple for Roman women to keep it long. Her mother’s must’ve been worth something for how beautiful it was, reaching her thighs in elegant waves, and her sister’s must’ve taken hours to prepare every day with all the braids and swoops she kept it in.

Lorian gripped the handle of her blade. She didn’t think it over because she knew she’d regret it. Nobody in the kingdom could know she was Lucia. If she were to live as Lorian, Lucia needed to die.

Her locks fell around her in spirals. Her head instantly felt lighter than it had in years, but she knew it didn’t look right. One part was uneven, the next cut too close to her scalp. She didn’t touch her bangs, as Missus Sharma had just styled them the day before, and when she was done, she didn’t look back in the mirror. She retied it into a small ponytail. Her neck felt cold yet free, another chain broken.

Someone knocked on her door.

She nestled her knife against her thigh.

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

The voice, so sweet and motherly, Lorian knew it better than her own mother’s.

“Yes, Missus Sharma,” she called out, and slowly opened her window all the way. Her curtains fluttered. It kissed her cheeks, her newly uncovered neck.

“I don’t want you to feel alone right now. I know this’s terrifying for you, and unfair. Oh, sweetheart, I know. Can you talk to me? Have you eaten?”

Lorian lifted one leg over the windowsill. She’d once climbed out of this window as a child to the giant clock tower above. When they’d found her, her father had slashed her palms. It seemed so much easier as a thirteen-year-old. “I have, and I’m alright now.” She dared a peek down the four stories and closed her eyes. It wasn’t high up. It wasn’t that high. “I’ll be okay.”

“Do you need anything from me right now?”

She swung the rest of her body out of the window. Vertigo hit her like a crashing wave. She wrapped both arms around the blanket and gave a firm tug. “No. You’ve done enough for me this week, and I do appreciate all that you’ve done.” She put more of her weight on the bedsheet ladder, then more. “G-go tell my mother and father that…I’m contemplating coming down soon.”

“Oh, you are?” Missus Sharma asked. “How wonderful! Let me bring them up.”

“I-I’ll just need a minute,” she called out, hoping her voice wouldn’t travel. “Do give me that, okay, Missus Sharma?”

“Of course, Your Highness. Oh, their Majesties will be so thrilled.”

“I’ll bet,” Lorian muttered under her breath, and looked down. What was four stories, really, other than a two-second drop to your crushing, painful death?

She bit her lower lip, said a prayer to any God that would hear her, and let gravity take her down.

Her boot snagged on a jutting brick and, while it might’ve been a two-second controlled fall, it felt longer. She anticipated hitting the ground but didn’t expect to feel the dizziness that accompanied her once she hit the earth. Her feet gave out from underneath her and she rolled over like a turtle. Ether looked down at her, chuffing.

Lorian stayed on the ground, fingers curling into the cold grass. She counted the eerie seconds of silence. Someone always noticed when she acted out. She’d be caught, subdued, reformed into what her father wanted.

Nobody came. Missus Sharma didn’t run to her bedroom window and call out for her. No patrolling officer asked what she was doing.

She breathed in a gulp of fresh air, then slowly lifted herself up with her horse. She pulled on her reins and waited. She climbed onto Ether’s back and waited.

Nobody was coming.

Nobody knew she was here.

Lucia had been killed, and Lorian had taken her first step.

She blinked back the tears. She didn’t know what had brought them on. Her cutting her hair, her knowing that this one decision might strip her away from everyone she loved for months, years. If this worked, if she really pulled everything off, she might never see them again. Beatrice, Carmine, her mother, Missus Sharma, the maids and officers who treated her far better than she deserved, her father…

She violently turned her head away and broke Ether into a gallop. She tore through the gardens, through the first gate. A lone officer on duty hadn’t been expecting anyone to pass through here and certainly wasn’t prepared to stop a galloping mare running past him. He also probably hadn’t been expecting Lorian to be crying.

She knew _she_ hadn’t. Isn’t this what she’d wanted? To be free from a marriage to a man she’d met three, possibly four times in her life? To be free from her father’s expectations of being a subservient princess and to finally do what she wanted to do?

She ran her horse as fast as she could into the Roman night. Tonight, she was Lorian. And tonight, she was unshackled.


	3. Meeting of the Minds

The second Aida stepped off the boat, she was struck with awe, an intense yearning of something grander than she’d ever thought was possible.

Then the seasickness sullied the occasion, but she wouldn’t let her bodily issues ruin this once in a lifetime experience.

You could _feel_ when you entered Rome, when you officially made it to the country you’d been dreaming about for months, _years_ . The air was different, the energy warmer. Unlike Bělico, which sprawled out into farm valleys and snow-capped mountains with the occasional farm, Roma was anything but. Firstly, the people here had a place to be. They hauled barrels of water on to carriages, they sang for money, they bartered and sold their wares with the utmost power to their actions. The streets always seemed to be _moving_ , something Aida had wished for in Bělico but didn’t know how in which to hold herself.

After exiting the carriage that brought her deeper into town, she kept herself small, the grip on her cane and rucksacks making her hands sweat. The buildings were ancient and tall, and the noise overwhelmed her to the point of freezing her in place. She knew there were taverns near the center of the city, which was where she was going to sleep until the semester started, but here, in the middle of the busy streets, she was stuck. All at once, it felt like people were staring at her and ignoring her, like she was an uninteresting problem they couldn’t be bothered to solve.

She took a breath, pressed her weight onto her cane, and carried on.

The architecture was dazzling. Rich period houses made of brick, cottages built around markets selling seasoned meats and sugary sweets. Unlike her time as a child, when she thought food was free and people were kind, she now knew what to use her money for and bought cheap food to keep herself alive.

The streets were decorated in triangular pennant flags and ancient art, not for a festival, just to preserve the ancient traditions, and in the center of the intersections, written on that rich paper Aida fancied, was a drawn illustration of that princess that went missing.

Aida heard Lucia’s name whispered in the streets. Women with their hands over their mouths. Men with their hands on their hips, nodding about the obvious as to why she’d left. There were more officers walking around, the men in the red jackets and black hats who kept Roma safe. They patrolled the streets with vigilant eyes, waiting to spot the hidden princess in her wedding dress.

An arranged marriage. Aida didn’t know much about the people of Aldaí, though she supposed one of her birth parents might’ve claimed a place of origin there. The prince sounded like a normal fellow with average values. Though, if she were to re-examine the predicament, she couldn’t blame the princess for escaping such a marriage. If Aida had been arrange married, she too would’ve run, though probably not the day of. The girl must’ve either been a juggernaut for chaos, or an incredibly indecisive person.

The streets winded and were made of cobblestone that the Siinans and Eve herself must’ve walked. It was difficult discerning which parts of the city belonged to Siina, which streets and plots of land had been claimed by the Roman crown after the city-state’s destruction. The city had white, ancient columns, fountains with Circa’s statue atop them, and even a few ancient buildings preserved from the Classical Era. She knew how to spot them with their white walls and timber frames. They must’ve been 1,000 years old, so close to Queen Eve’s timeline yet too far away for her to ever have seen them. Aida wondered how many ancient people had walked these same cobblestone streets, how many buildings Eve might’ve walked into. She’d have to plan a full day just to explore to take everything in.

No true Romans seemed to be paying attention to the history around them, but the notable tourists were looking up at the columns in the same fervor as Aida. She wanted to take a tour of every ancient building. She would’ve even dipped into the depths of the infamous Catacombs that lay underneath her feet, but she couldn’t make a spectacle of herself. She saw Visatorre roaming the streets, those with the circles over their forehead and those who were quite obviously hiding them in head wrappings. Most looked unfortunate, dirty. Some were begging for a bronze lyria. Aida gave them what she could, knowing she should’ve kept all of it for herself, being that she was, in a sense, homeless as well.

As she toured the shops and eyed the delectables of frosted cookies and her favorite, sugar bread, she came across an abandoned shop with its windows boarded and door signs stripped away. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, so she rested against its walls to catch her breath. How far had she made it, two kilometers? It was another three to the nearest taverns. Should she’ve called for another carriage? Would they stop for her? She needed to read up more about the unspoken rules in Roma, not ones from a millennia ago. Should she have hidden her marking? She would’ve rather died.

She went to clean off her glasses when a figure in white caught her eye. It—she—sat on the steps, a poor woman wrapped in rags. At first glance, she resembled more of a pile of laundry than a woman in need, she was so knelt over. She was tall, though, even when crouched down, and barefoot. Aida had no choice but to help her, she was drawn to her. How tall was she, two meters? Her sitting state was almost Aida’s full height.

Aida walked closer, eager to help yet keeping back in fear of the unknown. “Excuse me.”

The woman’s eyes were completely bound by bandages. She wasn’t injured—they weren’t bloody or stained—they just looked like a reminder to show the public that she simply did not have eyes.

Aida pulled back. Most Visatorre, when the time travelled, only travelled back a few decades. The farther back you went, the more messed up you came back. Five years back would get you a bad cough or a throbbing joint. Fifty years and you’d end up with a permanent injury, like her shitty leg or a fucked up eye. 200 years back and who knew. You could lose your leg, your head might fall off. Aida had known one girl from her village that travelled back 150 years, give or take a decade. She had regular bleeding from the brain. It lasted two months before she died an agonizing death.

People had theories as to why a time traveller jumped, and scholars and medics have tried their damnedest to find a solution to why travelling hurt the traveller once they returned, but all signs pointed to the Heavens above. Those who still believed in the Gods—very few in her generation—believed that these things happened simply because the Gods willed them to happen. Why did it happen? Why did the Gods take away children right when they were born? Why couldn’t humans live as long as trees or Aldaían turtles? It was simply nature, a nature human beings had yet to understand.

Taking in the woman’s differences, Aida closed her hand around the coins. “Here,” she said, “it’s ten bronze lyria.”

The woman slowly lifted her head, showing Aida a wide, unnerving smile that seemed otherworldly. Wildly, wickedly, reaching from ear to ear. Despite being homeless, her teeth were perfectly white. They were almost blue.

Aida slowly retracted her offered hand, but still dropped the ten lyria next to her hip. Roma was incredibly different from Bělico. It was grand as well as poor. Beautiful as well as filthy.

Interesting as well as confusing.

She couldn’t imagine what she’d see near the Palace, and the Colosseum.

Where Siina once lay.

* * *

Students were given access to Durante Academy a day before classes officially started. This was mostly for students and their families to tour the campus, to admire the plaques of royal statues and feast in the dining hall together. Aida had no family to see her off and she’d already known everything that was written on the plaques, so she’d taken to just moving in without any spectacle. Alone. Up four flights of stairs. Without anyone to help her.

It was fine. She was fine. It didn’t matter that nobody helped her or that her mother hadn’t come looking for her. It’d been three weeks, sure, and maybe communication between Bělico and Roma would take that long. And it could’ve snowed, so the post might’ve been halted or stopped temporarily.

Maybe her mother had never come searching for her, and who cared? Finally, Aida had become unburdened by the weight of family life. It was all she’d ever wanted.

She just wished, against her better judgement, that she had somebody to pay and help her. She’d spent most of her savings on lodging at a nearby inn before the Academy opened. She would’ve paid for the help with what little money she had left, but she was carrying the weight of every Visatorre in Roma City. Out of the 2,500 people attending this Academy, she’d sniffed out that only six of those 2,500 students were Visatorre. .2 percent. Ten years ago and no Visatorre had the rights to attend higher education. She couldn’t let this opportunity be tainted by her own missteps and selfishness.

Stepping onto the soil of the Durante Academy didn’t feel real, like she was stepping into a painting. It was built up like the Roman Palace, with arches and red brick holding centuries worth of knowledge. It’d been built at the turn of the Neoclassical Era—the Era they were in now—but it was still more than 200 years old. It’d been named Scoppio Erutus Academy in honor of the first king of Roma, but then King Durante had been so arrogant, he forced his wife to rename a historic foundation after himself. What she would’ve done if she meant the man himself. Gouge out his eyes, she would.

She touched the iron-clad gates, then where her acceptance letter was in her bag. She’d done it. All without her family’s help.

She’d taken all but four steps through the Academy gates when she felt her body tense. She’d familiarized herself with her normal bodily aches apart from these ones. When she felt like this, when the world shifted around her like someone was tilting it with both hands, that’s when she knew. That’s when she knew a jump was about to occur.

The first thing she did was take off her glasses. Nothing came with you when you teleported into the past, not even your clothes, so it did right by you to make sure you secured any loose valuables or breakables on your person before you left. Stumbling across piles of clothes was commonplace, and it was a jackpot for thieves or terrible people to loot a defenseless, temporarily lost person of their money.

When she travelled backwards into time, her only concern was someone stealing her books and throwing them into a fountain.

A loud zap of energy stole her from the present. The travelling itself didn’t hurt, not at first, but it left her feeling floaty. That’s the only way she could describe it. You left the Earth that grounded you and was brought somewhere, somehow, against your will and into Circa’s hands. It was magic, Aida knew that, but everything magical about going into the past was stripped from her when she knew it’d leave her with a bloody nose or worse.

She dropped into a forest. Nothing spectacular, just an endless sea of untamed land and pine cones. She would’ve preferred something a little more interesting like a town or even a house. When you went back in time, you couldn’t interact with anything around you, so if you jumped into someone’s room, there you were, and you were stuck there until someone from that time period happened to open a door or window big enough for you to squeeze through. Open spaces like this, while bereft of anything eye-catching, made Aida thankful that she hadn’t jumped anywhere too stifling.

She wandered. It was all you could do for one, two hours in this pause in your life. She heard the birds chirping to each other, she heard the skittering of squirrels and rabbits who didn’t know a traveller was meters away from them. And she felt the wind, heard it flutter through the leaves and branches. But it was strange, distant. And smell, that was something you had trouble with. It was like walking through a moving painting. You were there, you were exploring, but you couldn’t interact with this painted scene before you. It was better, in that sense, if you came across something important. A meeting between generals, an unsolved murder with a new key witness. You could learn about the world in a way most people couldn’t.

And all she got was a forest. Just. Her. Luck.

After maneuvering around a fallen tree, she did come across something prominent: a crystal lake that sparkled with the bright blue sky. It perfectly reflected the white clouds and the treetops around them. Bugs danced across the water and frogs leapt atop their lilypads. And curled within the lake’s natural perimeter lived a cabin that honestly looked like it’d seen better days. It was modern, giving Aida context as to how far she’d jumped back, but some of the windows had cracks in it, and a natural ecosystem grew where its cut lawn should’ve been. It looked cozy, if not a little worn.

The sound of hammering skipped across the lake. Without her glasses, Aida guessed that there were two people sitting on the roof, patching up a hole.

She circled the lake. She heard them speaking, but she couldn’t make out their words or accents, leaving her lost as to who they were and where she was. She almost called out to them before remembering neither of them would hear, see, or acknowledge her.

She tried anyway. “Hey,” she called out. “Where are you in the world?”

Just when she was able to make out their faces, she felt her body being pulled back into the present. She tried to step out of the pull, to find out more about this abandoned cabin, but no Visatorre could do that. They could only go where Circa desired them to go and left when Circa wanted them gone.

When she fell back to the present, reality slammed down with her. Her aches, her bodily pain, the weight of being alive. She was a mass that affected the world, and it sucked and hurt. She was dizzy and it was hard to keep her eyes from spinning, but all in all, she was fine, meaning that she’d only travelled a short way for an even shorter time.

Then she tried to sit up and immediately crashed back down, her legs too tired to hold herself up. Yeah, she wasn’t dead, but check back in two hours when she had a bag of ice on her lower back and a migraine beginning to form.

The Sun had long since set. Night bugs chirped from the bushes around her and most of the lanterns were out. With the Moon’s help, she patted the ground for her glasses, and found them and her bags, shoes. They were all still there, but she’d have to double-check just to make sure. She’d needed to know her books were still with her, otherwise, what was the point of all of this? If she lost her journals…

“Miss, are you alright?”

She lunged for her dress. One-pieces were the easiest clothing for Visatorre to wear to regain their modesty, or what they had left of it, but someone had already seen her, and they sounded like her age. What a great first impression to make at the Academy.

The person coming up to her was a blur without her glasses, but she saw that they were tall—everyone was tall to her, being that she was only 144 centimeters tall—and they had blond hair and fair skin, wearing…

An officer uniform.

Just. Her. Fucking. Luck.

“Here, let me assist you,” they said, this time with a noticeable lisp.

“I can assist myself, thank you. Sir,” she added, hoping she wouldn’t get written up for being too crass with an officer, and got dressed in front of him. She didn’t worry about her undergarments or socks, she just needed to cover her body in front of this person.

A piece of fabric draped over her shoulders: his jacket.

“Please, allow me,” he said, and now, he was way too close. She had a thing about that, about people touching her, getting into her personal space without her consent.

“Not really helping,” she said, and shrugged it off to button up her dress. When she still felt his presence behind her, she said, “Give a woman some privacy?”

“Oh, of course.” He turned on his heel with his hands behind his back. “My apologies. I was keeping watch over your things in case you came back. I heard a loud _snap_ , then saw all these clothes on the ground. I thought it’d be best to help you once you returned.”

“Were you expecting me to disappear?” She flicked out her glasses and put them back on.

“No, I just didn’t want you to be frightened once you returned.”

He was indeed an officer, wearing that gaudy fit the crown made all officers wear—a red jacket studded with gold buttons, black boots that reached their knees—but he was an officer-in-training: no medals or aiguillettes to signify rank, a short rapier attached to his belt as opposed to the long ones real officers used. He was another young fool pulled into the system meant to serve a monarchy who couldn’t be bothered about you.

His green eyes shot down at her naked legs. A hint of red was scratched across his long face. “Forgive me, Miss. I’ve never seen someone jump into the past before. It’s like you were there, then in a flash, you were taken away.”

Ah, so he was pampered. Aida saw his whole life: sheltered, kept away from real life. Most Visatorre weren’t rich, so you either saw them on the streets, working in the fields, or doing manual work to get by. Given that, and by how clean and posh this boy sounded, he’d probably never fought a day in his life.

He stepped back, taking her in from a different angle, then gasped and knelt down to collect her things. “It must be hard,” he said, “disappearing like that and all.” He handed her her shoes, taking note of her right one that weighed heavier than the other. He checked inside for any rocks.

“It’s fine,” she said, and put them on. If the cane didn’t give away her ailments from being a Visatorre, her mismatched shoes would’ve. “The right one has a larger heel due to my limp. Keeps me balanced.”

“Oh.” If he had anything else to say on that, he didn’t.

She sighed. She didn’t need this kid’s pity tonight. She moved to gather her own shit and strained something down her leg. Her right one was worse, the dead weight that made her limp so bad. Sometimes it radiated its anger up her spine and left her toes numb and body with feverish aches for the whole day. This boy didn’t need to know that, he didn’t need to know anything about her. Lucky for her that he’d just seen a part of her that she hadn’t meant neither a man nor woman to ever see. She picked up her bags, her upper lip curled.

“Please, Miss, it’s no problem at all,” he said. “I can help you take them to your dorm if you’d like. Which house is it?”

“…Willows,” she said, though she was unsure if she should’ve been telling this boy where she’d now live.

“That’s across the campus. Here.” He picked up all three of her bags with one arm, as well as her books and uniforms she’d received earlier that week. The Academy almost sent them to her stepmother’s house before she’d intervened.

Aida stepped away from him. “Why’re you helping me?”

“Because I’m an officer.”

“But…” She sighed again. It was too late and she was too tired to argue. “If you do anything insidious, I’ll scream so loud, I’ll make you deaf.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Please don’t think so ill of me, Miss…”

“Aida. Mirko,” she added, and curtsied shortly, shoeless with her braids coming undone. “What a first impression to make, ’ey?”

The boy chuckled shortly, then bowed, a hand over his stomach. “Lorian Ashwell. A pleasure to meet you.”

Aida scoffed and started walking towards her dorm, her bloomers tucked over her arm. “Not so much from my end. What a bastard of a way to see your first jump.” 

“I’ve heard many different tales of it, no doubt. My father is rather…orthodox when it comes to the views of Visatorre.”

“So he’s a cock.”

Lorian choked on his own spit, then burst into a laugh that Aida couldn’t help but smile at. “How bold of you! I’ve never heard a woman speak so crassly as you do.”

“You must not meet many girls.”

He turned away, still chuckling. “That is true, yes.”

Her forced confidence shrunk. Wasn’t she supposed to make a good impression on this school? This kid must’ve been a hired officer to patrol the grounds at night. He’d report her behavior back to the dean. She needed to watch her mouth.

“So, where are you from?” Lorian asked. “No one from Roma would speak as confidently as you do, and your accent is quite unique.”

Aida arched a brow at him. “And you call _me_ bold, asking for my name first, then asking where I’m from based off of my accent? What about _your_ accent? Wouldn’t that be invasive if I asked you about that?”

He lost a step beside her and touched his lips. “My lisp isn’t something I can control, Miss Mirko, though I have been taking therapy lessons to correct it. I’m sorry it offends you in some way.”

Aida cocked her head at the sudden dip into aggressiveness. “When did I say anything about your lisp? I ain’t that rude despite what everything thinks of me. I said ‘accent’. You speak properly, so one can assume you came from wealth, but I wasn’t gonna say that out loud.”

“Oh.” Lorian shot her a look she couldn’t read, then he smirked and dropped his hand. “You are quite something, Miss Mirko.”

“You just met me, _Lorian Ashwell_ , so cool it with the conclusions.”

“Please do forgive me. I haven’t met many people my age. I’m still getting used to the acclimation.”

“Were you living under a rock up until now?”

“You could say that, yes.”

Aida harrumphed. Rich _and_ ignorant. She didn’t know a worse combination.

But she couldn’t knock him. He was kind, doing all of this for her. Her hands almost relaxed out of their fists, but she kept her guard up. She still had her cane to dig into his eye sockets if he fucked up.

He helped her all the way up the spiral staircase, stopping whenever she needed to. He never mentioned her cane or how she sometimes walked into him due to her balance problem. For a boy who hadn’t properly met a Visatorre before, he was taking it better than most. Most threw questions, insults. Rocks, if they were truly cowards.

Her dorm room was small yet curved along with the edge of the building, giving her an extra window. She also had a writing desk, a small poster bed, a wardrobe, and a sofa. Her radiator had been polished and her bedsheets smelled of freshly cleaned linen. It didn’t yet smell like her, but it would, in time.

She took it in in a circle. No longer would she shiver upstairs in a house she didn’t feel like she belonged in, waiting for a better tomorrow she thought would never come. She’d gotten it.

She turned to Lorian, who’d invited himself in and was placing her things on her bed.

“You can go,” she told him. “Don’t need you sniffing my clothes and seeing my journals.”

“Journals?” He dropped her bags. One of her thickest journals dropped on his boot.

“Hey, careful.”

“My apologies.” He picked it up and scanned the cover, noticing the tiny drawings and carvings she’d etched into the old binding. 

She’d gotten that journal from school in which to write assignments, but she’d used it to write down her actual thoughts instead. After a few weeks, she’d torn out the older pages and spliced in new ones about her interests in history. Timelines, character sheets, her own theories about what she thought might’ve happened in Siina. By now, the journal was near bursting, the original pages yellowed and loose, with thousands of furious writings smudged around her crude drawings.

Lorian smiled at the dried flowers kept between the pages. “What a beautiful piece.”

She grimaced. He didn’t even know what it was.

He didn’t know, yet he still called it beautiful, this handmade book that meant so much to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s what I do when my brain isn’t broken.”

“Is it for school?”

“No. It’s my thoughts on history.”

“Which part of history?”

“All of Lyrica.”

He weighed the book between both hands. “May I?” he asked, and went to open the first page but stopped for Aida’s consent.

She didn’t know. Back home, her sisters had never cared for it, and her mother hated that she wasted her time writing when she could’ve been tending to the farm.

No, she had to stop thinking that way. That place was no longer a home, it was a place, a memory.

“If you can read my handwriting,” she said.

He crossed his ankles as he flipped through the first few pages, skipping over a few centuries worth of notes about the founding of Lyrica, then Roma, then Roma City. He focused on her doodles of all things, the clothing styles and landscapes she thought Siina would’ve had throughout the eras. Not that she was embarrassed because she wasn’t, she just thought the word told a better picture than the, well, pictures.

When he didn’t say anything, Aida, feeling restless by silence, took to decorating her space to fit her needs. She threw her clothes off to one side and organized a few of her books onto the shelves. She stacked her playbooks one the table and centered a figure of a glass ballerina on the windowsill. After getting everything out of her bags and Lorian still standing there, Aida caved to her desires and lit a blunt she’d pre-rolled for the trip.

When she struck her lighter and realized that there was, shockingly, an officer still in her room, Lorian looked up at her.

She took the blunt out of her mouth. “Oops.”

Lorian checked that it was indeed a blunt and not a cigarette that might’ve gotten her off easier. Then he chuckled that damn chuckle of his. Was it irritating? She couldn’t tell. “Oops, indeed.”

“Don’t nark on me. I thought you were cool.”

“And what if I do? It’s in my job description to relate all illegal activity to Dean Falco, and I recently got this job on a whim. I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Nor would I. I have a reputation to uphold. So.” She crossed her arms, joint in-between two fingers. “Whatcha gonna do, officer?”

Lorian’s smile widened, something Aida noticed about him more than anything, and he held out his hand.

Aida smiled back and handed him her joint.

* * *

The hours kind of…passed, which was something Aida wasn’t used to. She usually had her daily chores to grind the day to a halt. Wake up, feed the animals, make breakfast, do dishes. Work, clean, attend. Only at night could she waste her sleeping hours doing what she wanted to do, and that was to get high and study her craft.

Things were different with Lorian, this shitstain of a dude. He wasn’t an officer. She didn’t believe it. Officers were prissy rich boys who wanted to fight because of their terrible childhoods. This kid was, in every way, normal. He didn’t react volatile to the blunt. He was _interested_ in her take on history. She ended up rambling about her life, her mother, her sisters, her desire to become a historian, and she didn’t fear that she was speaking too loudly or too much. What was this, a set-up? Good things rarely came her way, especially in the form of people. Maybe it was a dream.

“So, you’ve tried Nectar before, I reckon?” she asked. They were both on her bed, but for some reason, she didn’t feel embarrassed by it. Lorian didn’t seem so either. His cheeks had returned to their normal shade.

“I have dabbled in it, yes, though I’m more used to drinking it rather than smoking it.”

“Isn’t there less of a high when you drink it?” she asked. Nectar was the golden honey from Aldaí. When mixed with the Aldaían poppy flower that often grew near the beehives, it left you with an incredible high that could last for hours.

“Yes, but I lived in a household where it was frowned upon to smoke,” Lorian said, “so I snuck it in with luncheons and dinners. I feel like my mother knew about it, but as long as my father wasn’t aware, I was fine.”

“And the raw shit is more expensive,” she noted.

He just shrugged and motioned for her joint, which she gladly passed to him. “My household was…it was fine, you know? Once you strip away its policies and protocols, we were normal. But sometime’s life’s just, like, you know, shit? Like it’s _all_ shit, like you can’t get out of it, no matter what you do.”

“I absolutely hear you,” Aida said. “My mo’mma’s the same way. When I become queen, all this shit? Changing immediately. Effective immediately. Life’s not gonna be what we thought it was.”

“ _You’re_ going to be queen?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then you can take my pl…” He paused. “You can’t _become_ a queen. You must be _born_ into it, unless you marry someone who’s high enough in _rank_ , but why would you?” He kept using air quotes as he talked, like it wasn’t obvious that that’s how you became an official royal person. “Royal life sucks.”

“I can take care of it. Those two princesses or whatever ain’t gonna be it like I am. One’s off in Bělico, the other’s…somewhere. Did you hear she died?”

Lorian took another drag, his eyes half-closed. “That’s what they’re saying now, huh?”

“That’s what I hear from the latest paper. Hey, you know what? You don’t seem like an officer to me.”

Lorian dropped his hand. “I am.”

“How?”

“I received a recommendation from His Majesty the king that the dean stupidly took. It was very generous, and I’m not letting the opportunity of a lifetime go to waste.”

“But—”

“I’m an officer.”

Aida glanced over to him, curious that _that_ got a reaction out of him. Here she thought he was a prissy officer, but now, not only was he a stoner, he had a mouth.

He was looking over at her, his cheek pressed against the ruffled covers. “I’m an officer now,” he said, adding on the needed adverb. “I know I may not be as refined or as skilled as the others, but I’m trying my best, and I want nothing more than to show what I can do.”

Aida’s lips parted. Finally, something that clicked. Finally, something she understood. “Good,” she told him. “Maybe you’ll be the officer to finally fuck over the king and make Roma a better place, because I know I’m going to be the historian to rewrite this country’s history.”

“Rewrite history?”

“Yeah. I know so much more than any historian’s in Roma, and I’m going to change the world with what I know.”

“What _do_ you know, Miss Mirko?”

She got up and started pacing. “Well, I know that Queen Eve’s full name is Eve Hyuang Costa, ‘Costa’ coming from her Siinan heritage, and ‘Hyuang’ comes from a province in Aldaí, specifically from the eastern provinces, meaning that she was multi-racial. Not many historians bring that up, but I’ve cross-referenced diary entries from King Julius II and his wife where they both mention her middle name in passing, and how she truly was ‘a blossoming flower’, which is what ‘Hyuang’ translates to. Her full name means ‘a blossoming flower in the river of life’. Isn’t that pretty? They also wash her mother’s heritage from the history texts, you know. I’ve even read texts where they change her surname from Zhao to Zangari. Isn’t that messed up?”

Lorian nodded along to everything in confusion. “It is, but, pray tell, who’s Eve?”

Aida’s jaw dropped, a hand to her heart.

“Did I offend—”

“Yes!” She swiped back her joint. “How _dare_ you say that in my presence? All of my work rests on that woman’s shoulders. She’s the reason I want to be a historian because the history books have her history wrong—No, sit down,” she said as he began to stand. He plopped back down. “Unless you have somewhere to be at—” She checked the watch that wasn’t on her wrist. “God knows what time it is, you’re sitting your ass down and listening to me.”

People her age didn’t look at her like an equal, or someone of much worth, so the way Lorian kept doing that with Aida, it terrified her. She’d built herself up with barriers and outcast people before she got to know them. She didn’t know how this boy had gotten past her, this Lorian Ashwell. Maybe he’d be the one officer Roma City needed, just like she was the best person to fix the country.

“Please, continue,” Lorian said, and she did.

* * *

She spent the next two hours talking to him about Queen Eve and how much this dead queen meant to her. She talked about the queen’s upbringing, her beliefs, how her older sister was supposed to have married King Meyeso but Eve had persuaded him to marry her instead. She was passionate, outspoken, energetic, youthful, and she never let any ruling stop her from achieving what she craved. And she’d done it all as a Visatorre, before the Roman king had murdered her for allegedly murdering his wife.

“Isn’t that fucked?” Aida asked, needing some sort of validation from this boy.

Lorian just kept staring at her. His hand never left his lips.

“Well? Isn’t it?”

He kept staring at her.

“What?”

“I like the way you speak,” he told her.

She faltered. Scratch anyone listening to her rambles, nobody had ever told her they liked the way she spoke, or thought, valuing her thoughts and brain as something to be admired. She pulled down on her dress cuffs, feeling exposed. “Okay.”

“You know so much.”

“It’s one of the things I pride myself in.”

“Do you pride yourself in many things?”

“Of sorts.”

He rolled around. “What about this?” He pointed his boot at her playbooks. “ _En Tempore Rose_. What a collection of playbooks.”

“Woah, wait.” She leaned over Lorian’s figure, the ends of her newly done braids tickling his nose. “You know about _Pinnacle Isle_?

Lorian pressed himself deeper into her bed. He held his lips in a tight line. “Not the, uhm, book series, no. But I do enjoy the opera—”

“I _love_ the book series!” Aida interrupted. “I have a first edition of the first book in my bag. What’s your favorite chapter? Who’s your favorite character? Mine’s the Goddess, but Pinnacle is always a close second, as is with the Red Dragon, of course.”

Lorian looked down at Aida’s lips. “Sorry, I’ve only known the opera. My parents always took me to see it when—”

 _“Oh!”_ Aida moaned. “Oh, for _shame_ ! For shame that Roman sensibilities have negated you from indulging in the purest form of art that is _Pinnacle Isle_ and the utter perfection of the hero’s journey.”

She stepped back, a drunken high making her unstable. “Pinnacle, our orphan boy dropped on a forgotten, desolate island. He thinks he’s alone and so unbelievably screwed, but at the end of chapter three, he finds that a feral dragon is being kept at the top of the island’s tower, and it’s up to him, his guardian/Goddess, Sempre, and the dragon’s own two scaly children to find a way off the island before the storm comes. How could you only indulge in the opera, a mere fanfare of what the books truly means to us readers? Have you no shame, good sir?”

Lorian looked Aida up and down. He sucked in his lips as he gave her a simple shrug. “Not really, no.”

She pointed down at him. “You, Lorian Ashwell, are a fake fan, just watching the enormously inaccurate opera instead of enjoying the pages and pages of Pinnacle’s and the Goddess’ story. I need you to stay with me tonight so I can tell you the greatest story told on Roman soil. Do you hear me? You’re staying with me.”

Lorian bit his soft lips. “I wouldn’t mind that in the slightest, Miss Mirko.”

“It’s Aida,” she reminded him.

“Aida, then,” he said, and she didn’t know why, but she liked the way that sounded in his mouth.


	4. Aida's Second Letter

  


She flipped through the third history text she’d finished that week, trying to spot any more clues she’d missed. It was lunch time, so she’d yet again found herself in the campus library instead of the dining hall or open  _ piazzas  _ with the other students. She’d tested the librarians and found that not many of them came around this corner of the ancient building. It let her eat her lunch of bread and butter in peace.

She pushed up her glasses as she leaned over her spine-broken books. It’d been two weeks since the semester started and she’d already finished all of the reading and had a head start on her essays and future projects, giving her ample time to read up about her new country’s history. One of the key aspects of wanting to get into Durante Academy was this library. More than 40,000 books were archived here. Everything from pre-classical recipes to first editions of history texts. She’d discovered a new biography on Eve’s life. Her favorite color? Burgundy. Aida couldn’t wait to buy a dress in that deep shade of royalty.

But she was getting nowhere today. Not only did this volume not have the answers she was searching for, there was a bug burrowing into her brain.

She hadn’t spoken to Lorian since the day they first met. It shouldn’t have mattered, being that he’d only done her a favor. She couldn’t remember a lot about what happened because she’d gotten completely baked, but she remembered that they’d bonded, right? That’s what people did, right? Or acquaintances at best. Her sisters often talked to one another about school, boys, girls. Their favorite actors and which ones they wanted to marry, what they wanted to be when they grew up. They’d never asked Aida what she wanted, never cared about her passions, but this boy had. That had to account for something, didn’t it?

So why hadn’t they talked since?

And why the fuck did it bother her so much?

Someone giggled. Down the aisle of books, three girls from one of Aida’s history classes were hiding. They had their hands cupped to their mouths as they whispered and pretended not to be looking at Aida. As a distant grandfather clock chimed for one, they ran off, their black dresses catching on their long legs.

Aida bit hard into her bread and chewed the tough crust so she couldn’t hear her thumping heart.

It didn’t bother her.

They didn’t bother her.

Her stomach growled in upset, so she organized her borrowed books and readied to leave. All she’d managed to find today was a new spelling of Queen Eve’s name—“Eta,” though scholars said this might’ve been a nickname used only by her loved ones—and, unfortunately, a new drawing of the Colosseum’s interior.

She didn’t know why she put so much time into these dead monarchs. Who were they but people who started and ended wars, who fucked and died vigorously and left palaces as their tombstones? The crown was now tolerable at best. No ruthless killings of Visatorre in the Colosseum, none that were publicized. She was able to go to school now, it wasn’t banned anymore. So why put all this time and energy into a system that didn’t give a damn about you in the first place?

“Aida?”

She started. She recognized that voice, and all of her nagging suspicions and fears suddenly disappeared with her upset stomach.

Lorian bounded up the library steps two at a time to meet her. He was waving, like she wouldn’t see an officer coming at her. Well, officer-in-training; she couldn’t let him get a big ego around her. “There you are!” he said, and took off his hat in a bow. “Good afternoon. Did you have lunch yet?”

She shuffled her books together and wiped any sort of emotion from her face. “How do you keep finding me? Are you spying on me?”

“Of course not. I’ve heard from the teachers that you enjoy spending your afternoon’s here, and I had a free afternoon to myself, so I decided to come find you.” He looked around without his eyes catching on anything. “A little medieval here, is it not? Different from the newly upgraded buildings.”

“A building built two hundred years ago with history dating back to the Classical era is medieval?  _ No _ .”

He smiled that smile of his that irked her. “You have me there. So, have you learned anything more about Eve?”

She was surprised he remembered that. “Not much, only that—”She checked her notes. “People who loved her called her ‘Eta’, like how some Aldaían call their spouses ‘ama’ for ‘beloved’. That’s not well-known.”

“I didn’t know that, and I’ve been taught a lot about Roma’s history. You know, I didn’t know that she’d killed King Julius II’s wife. I was taught she’d killed him.”

“He’d killed himself a few days later. That’s what the books say, anyway. What books did you read from that? I’d like to research that topic. Most books say the opposite.” She started putting away her books. “Back when we were indulging in unfavorable substances, I pegged you as someone who didn’t know much about Eve.”

“I was…incapacitated at the time. Do forgive me if I said anything too obtrusive to you. I don’t remember much of what happened.” He looked around the now empty floor. “Please keep that night confidential. I don’t want it to harm either of our reputations.”

“What, two young people enjoying one another’s company with a natural reserve akin to morphine?”

“I mean two young people spending their time in…a woman’s bedroom. At night. It’s highly provocative, and I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“It was my dorm room, but sure. I’m sure that Roman standards suggest you spending your time elsewhere.”

“Please, don’t think me immodest, Miss Mirko. Aida,” he corrected when Aida gave him a look. “That had been my first day on the job. I’d…left my home quite suddenly not too long ago, and I was still getting my bearings when I was allowed entry as an officer for this prestigious Academy. I sought only to do the right thing, though I did enjoy our company that evening.”

“The evening spent with me talking  _ at  _ you for three hours straight about shit only I find interesting.”

“On the contrary. I found much of what you told me quite interesting. I was true on my word about never meeting a person as outspoken as you are.”

“Because the upbringing was that bad?”

He only nodded. “Very.”

“Then that’s something we have in common.” She stood on her tiptoes to put away a book on a high shelf. Lorian went to help but stopped once he realized she had it.

“Were you taught history in school?” Aida asked.

“In my teachings, yes. I didn’t really go to school, I was more so homeschooled. Why?”

“Because not many of us were lucky enough to be taught history. The good stuff, anyway. The shit that makes you think. A lot of what’s done in Bělico is taught orally. That’s how it was with me before I pushed for secondary schooling. Some of the schools don’t accept Visatorre into the school system. They’re still stuck in the past. I was the only one in my graduating class. It’s why I care so much.”

“That’s quite admirable. Not many people our age are adamant about getting the word out like you are. Most people just learn what’s needed to pass and carry on.”

“It’s the stuff that everyone should know about. What else we gonna learn about? The current royals? Gag me, I can’t stand them.”

Lorian offered to place one of the books on the high shelf. Aida tried it herself before giving in and lending it to him.

“Do you know if…the Bělico queen has done anything?” Lorian asked. “You’re from Bělico, right? Is she alright?”

“Queen Beatrice?” Aida asked. “Fuck no. I haven’t even seen the queen in person and I lived there all my life. She’s just like the queen here.”

“How so?”

Aida gave him a curious look before carrying on. He was a part of the royal guard, how did he not know about political affairs? “All they do is sit on the sidelines while their husbands do all the work, and it’s terrible work. Absolutely dreadful. If I were queen, I’d be like Queen Eve, who got shit done during her lifetime. Irrigation? Reconstructed. Trade routes from here to Aldaí? Reinvented. She’d helped to fund the first school for the blind, did you know that? She was interested in eyesight in a time which eyeglasses hadn’t been invented yet. Roman scholars would lead you to believe the good and loyal Romans did all that, but no. It was done by a queen whose city no longer exists. I’d honor her by doing everything she couldn’t do and more. I’d rework the entire system of Lyrica.”

“Will you now?” Lorian asked, leaning down to meet her eyes.

She tasted a sense of sarcasm on his tongue. She fought against it and stared into his eyes. It was hard, doing that with some people, but not so much with him. “Yeah, I will.”

“How—”

“I’d fix the school systems first. All children deserve to be taught, and it’d be the easiest change from a financial standpoint. Aldaí is progressive when it comes to this, so we can leave that to Prince Zaahir and that new princess he married. What was her name again? Beatrice and Lu…”

“I-I don’t recall,” Lorian said quickly, “but I agree with you. Aldaí is very progressive.”

“So then, if we can work out some type of stronger alliance with them, we then get to work on local modernization through the help of showing that the crown actually gives a fuck about us. We never see the royals, ever.”

“They do make public appearances from time to time,” he defended.

“Yeah, bullshit, I’ve never seen them. If anything, they only visit the biggest, strongest cities that’re pouring lyria into their pockets.”

Lorian shrugged in agreement. He looked like he had more to say on the matter but kept quiet so as not to interrupt her.

“So, I’d make them do more public showings. It might make the extremists angry, maybe make them more targets than they already are, but the monarchies have to show the people that they’re fighting for them. It’s exactly what Eve did in Siina. She was such a vocal, public figure, always visiting street markets and meeting with the people. And how do they do that?” She pointed at Lorian.

“I haven’t the faintest—”

“By listening to the people, yes, thank you. Open up more administrations and city councils so the people can be more in charge of their fates than the fucking officers and Constables frightening us into submission. No offense.”

“None taken.”

She looked down at one of her history texts. “We’re in a golden age of the world. No one is fighting one another. We’re not wasting hundreds of gold lyria on war strategies or extra officers. The last one was back in, what 1137? Twenty-two years ago? Back when we were babes? And that was just a fourteen-month fling where important Bělican crops weren’t being properly regulated across the sea because of unforeseen trade agreements. It left Roma without sugar for nearly a year. You see,  _ I _ could change the world if I was given the  _ chance _ , but I can’t  _ do  _ that because I have a fucking  _ circle  _ on my forehead!”

Her voice travelled across the library, skipping up the stairs and across the aisles of hidden knowledge. Lorian pressed his thin lips together, pretending he was an officer for the crown and did not enjoy breaking the rules.

Aida cleared her throat. She was getting ahead of herself again. She was going to push him away by being herself. She dialed it back. “The only chance I have is to become a historian. I might not be able to get a job right away, but when I graduate with a diploma from this Academy, I know someone out there will take me seriously.”

Lorian gave that considerable thought before nodding to himself. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I take you very seriously.”

“Course you do. The first time we met, I was fucking naked.”

“E-excuse me, I averted my gaze. I have values.”

“Like a true gentleman.”

Lorian opened his mouth to say more, then caught on whatever she’d said and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

She smiled back at him. She didn’t know what she had with this officer-in-training and why they clicked as well as they did—he was charismatic, helpful, charming, kind, easy-going. Everything she wasn’t. She hadn’t seen him in action, but he was probably good at his job, and had more friends than he knew what to do with. Total opposites in every regard, aside from the fact that they could share a blunt and be perfectly content with simply being near each other.

She frowned, not knowing why that made her so sad.

The heavy, wooden double doors leading to the main halls opened, and one of Aida’s advisors, Mister Omar, came out. He had a note in his wrinkled hand and his balding head was sweating from getting from his officer to the library before lunch period ended.

Lorian stepped back from Aida, self-conscious about how close they were to someone’s eyes. “Well, I should be off, then.” He bowed and put on his hat to cover his eyes. “Farewell, Miss Mirko, Mister Omar.”

“Farewell,” Mister Omar said, and watched him leave before whispering to Aida, “Miss Mirko, I just received a letter from the dean. He said he wishes to speak with you as soon as you’re available.”

“What does he wish to speak to me about?” Aida asked. “I was just getting back to my classes. You can’t fight me for choosing to spend my lunch here.”

“I don’t believe it’s about your elongated breaks in this great Rosalia Library,” he said, trying to be funny and failing. “Uh, no. Well, here. You can read it for yourself, but it came with a message saying to come to him before the end of the day.”

Aida took the letter.

_ In Regards to the Termination of Aida Mirko’s 6-Year Scholarship _

She covered her mouth. Something inside of her split open and was releasing a foul rot in the pit of her stomach. Her hands went cold, her face hot. She strained her eyes to see if anything more had been written on it, but that was it. A simple declaration that had taken all of her hopes and dreams into bettering herself and the world and throwing it out like an unwanted child.

She ran. Fighting on her cane to make her go faster, she broke around the corner and ran out of the library. She wouldn’t read the rest of the letter. There wasn’t any time. She’d go to the dean and fight. She’d demand her right to be here and fight. They wouldn’t take this knowledge away from her, not now.

She pushed through the pain and trotted down the wide marble steps from the cloister into the open courtyard. Here, students in black and white uniforms continued their lunch in peace. Girls decorated flower crowns and boys tackled one another to the grass like toddlers. A couple flirted with one another near the well in the center of the yard. Aida ran past them all. This was all a mistake. It had to be.

The dean’s office was one of the older buildings covered in ivy, right beside the church that students seldom used. At the front gates, two statues of lions acted as guards for the door. Two actual officers stood watch over the building at all hours of the day. The leather holding the rapiers on their hips were worn from use.

Aida forced the wheeze back into her throat. “I have…a letter from the dean. Open the gates. Please,” she added, wondering if these grown men would care for novelties like “please” and “thank you.”

The two men looked at one another, then shrugged and went to open the gate.

She barreled in before they fully opened the door and knocked furiously on the knocker. Beside the dean’s home was his personal horses and carriages. Aida had locked-on to his carriage, as she’d thought about egging it multiple times, but beside his carriage were two other carriages she didn’t recognize. They had the King’s Lions engraved on them in gold: a Constable carriage.

“Fuck,” she cursed, then shook the thought out of her mind and knocked louder. “Dr. Falco!” she announced. “Dr. Falco, it’s Aida Mirko. I’m a freshman who just started this year. You called to speak to me. May I please come in?”

The door unlocked twice, and one of the dean’s maids welcomed her with a bow. “Hello, Miss. What was it that you wished to—?”

Aida let herself in.

“Excuse me, Miss!”

It was a magnificent house that smelled of syrup and old collections. Books on shelves she could never reach and busts of naked men and women from a tainted royal line. Walking around a terribly gaudy zebra pelt, Aida snaked into the main room and knocked on the door.

It opened upon her third knock.

Dr. Falco was sitting in a large chair behind a mahogany table. Around him were papers and texts, and behind him, a map of the world was centered between two windows. Bělico in the west, Aldaí in the east, and Roma centered amongst it all, even though the Earth was, in fact, a sphere, and nobody was truly in the center of anything.

Between Aida and the dean stood three men. Two wore the same uniforms and pants as Lorian, but their ages and medals told her they were actual officers, not ones training to please the king and queen.

The other man, one with curly brown hair and golden aiguillettes and sashes across his jacket, indicated who he was immediately.

The Constable looked down at Aida with hollow eyes. They were cold and dark, as if he was looking at a sheep ready to be slaughtered. He set down the document he was reading and turned to face her. One hand went to his waist belt, to his rapier handle which shone gold in the sunlight. “Welcome, Miss Mirko,” he said.

Aida gulped at him knowing her name. Constables were leaders of twenty, sometimes thirty men in Roma, and with the air of stuffy egoism on him, this man was probably high in rank.

She swallowed back her fear. “Why was my scholarship terminated? What have I done wrong?”

“That’s the thing. Have a seat, my dear.”

She didn’t.

The Constable waited. “My name is Carmello Carmine, right-hand Constable to Her Majesty the Queen.”

She didn’t blink.

The Constable narrowed his eyes, then focused on her cane. “I’ve been informed that your scholarship to this school was for six years based on the principles of your excellence in history and language as well as your race and upbringing.”

“And?” she said, itching to fight him for how he said that.

“ _ And _ a law has just been put into place to make amendments to that initial proposition. Under the new, current law—”

“What law?” she interrupted. “I never heard anything about that in the paper.”

“The law,” he pressed, “indicating that it is unjust to allow a student any favorable outcomes when it comes to the acceptance rate to any Roman academy.”

Aida looked over the letter about her scholarship expulsion. “So what does that mean? I’m still enrolled into the school, aren’t I? I earned it. I left everything I had for—”

The Constable picked up his paper again. “The dean and I were going over your academia records and attendance rates.”

“I’ve been to every class!” she said. “I even started doing extra credit!”

“And,” he said, ignoring her, “unfortunately, we’ve concluded that your grades do not meet the qualifications to earn the scholarship for the next six years. Unless you can come up with the funds to attend this coming year, which we’ve estimated that someone who’s living on-campus would come up to 510 gold lyria, we unfortunately cannot enroll you into Durante Academy at this time.”

Aida tried doing the math in her head, hating herself with how long it was taking her. She thought it cost 450 gold lyria per semester, not 500 and change. Her mother didn’t even make that in a year with the farm. For six more years, at 500 gold lyria a semester…

She dropped her head. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

He lowered his paper. “Then I’m sorry to deliver the news—”

“But that’s not fair!” she exploded. She tried digging for any sort of advantage to keep her at his level. It was like fighting with her mother. Her eyes were watering.

“—that after this semester—”

“No!”

“You will no longer be able to attend Durante Academy as a student.”

Aida tried to read her letter again, searching for a loophole that already made her acceptance to this Academy shaky, but she couldn’t think. No matter how much she fought these people to be seen as equal, it’d never happen. It’s what Queen Eve had tried to fight for and failed. It’s what people like her had fought for for centuries and failed. All because of these kings and queens and these rules they bent to make their world more hateful.

She grit her teeth. In history, they said that the Visatorre queen had killed the king’s wife. Others said she’d killed the king. Aida had never believed either statement, but now, feeling the anger pulse in her ears, her eyes water in front of four men aiming to hurt her, she wouldn’t have blamed her for wiping people like this off the face of the fucking planet.

Holding back tears, she threw her walking cane at the Constable, scattering their papers and spooking the Constable backwards. “Fuck you! Fuck you and the crown you serve! All of you deserve to be buried in the Catacombs for the amount of shit you do for us!”

“Good God, Miss!” he said, staring down at her thrown cane. “Control yourself!”

The other officers unsheathed their rapiers, but the Constable held out his hand to make them put them away. “Miss, do you realize what you’ve just—”

She spat on the ground, cursed their mothers, and left, tears steaming from her bloodshot eyes.

“Miss!”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t  _ fair _ . She’d worked for years to get here, she’d dedicated her life to this cause she believed in. She was to learn all this new information she was hoping to uncover about Eve and for this stupid bullshit country, but she hadn’t done shit.

Her mother was right about her.

She left the house through the back, through the gardens and near the horse-drawn carriages. She didn’t want those damn officers seeing her like this, and she didn’t want to be seen leaving the headmaster’s home in tears.

The chickens in the nearby coop clucked at her. The hens pecked at the ground while their rooster counterparts watched from the top of the coop.

The door to their coop was left open, letting them roam the contained land.

Aida cast a seething glare at the house behind her, then at the carriages left unattended.

Then she crawled into the chicken coop and started collecting her throwing eggs.


	5. One of the Boys

As Lorian walked into an empty classroom and waited for Aida and Mister Omar to leave, she pressed her back into the door and utterly lost it.

She covered her mouth with her gloved hands. She’d done it. She’d finally talked to Aida again. And she hadn’t been so crass as she’d been when they’d first met. The first time had been a complete disaster. With Aida being naked and Lorian open-mouthed staring at her, the curves of her wide hips and ass, her breasts, her face, her _eyes_. God help her, she’d never seen a woman’s body so openly before. All she’d wanted to do that night was slam her down into bed and do unspeakable things to her, yet what had Aida wanted? To talk about fantasy novels and a queen who’d been dead for 1,200 years. What had Lorian even said that’d led her up to Aida’s bedroom? She’d need to write it down for reference.

Despite being betrothed for more than half of her life, Lorian hadn’t a clue how courting worked. The girls she’d met in the palace were diplomatic and groomed to please her, all peachy smiles and saying whatever they needed to make her happy. She’d tried to court an Aldaían knight a few years back, but she’d only earned her name and her preference of cakes before they’d parted ways.

Aida’s attitude was so defiant, so cheeky and unbecoming that it would’ve sent Lorian’s father into hysterics. She wanted her. She wanted to crack her open and explore her mind and passions and give it back to her a ten-thousand fold.

Lorian dragged her hands down her face. Maybe she’d buy her a history book, really push more into the things she loved, or maybe a ticket to _En Tempore Rose_. The official one, the one that played in the Colosseum. She’d have to schedule a trip to the city center. She’d wear a cloak.

After she heard Aida run off somewhere, Lorian re-entered the library and backtracked for the books Aida had put away. They were old and leather-bound, with yellow pages that smelled of mothballs: _History of Roma: From the Perspective of King Julius II to His People_ and _Hidden Dangers of Visatorre in Roman History_.

Lorian put that last one back. Aida was brave to read about history that was so rarely taught in class. Lorian had secretly read about it behind Missus’ Sharma’s back. She’d learned about the lost city-state of Siina and the belligerent queen who killed one of the dead kings, and how they killed and tortured those poor Visatorre people for sport soon afterwards as punishment. Thrown into the Colosseum with a pack of lions without any weapons with which to defend themselves. In this aisle alone, Lorian saw four other books detailing what a plight the Visatorre were to other people not blessed with the ability to travel through time.

She believed. The power to go back in time, acting as a ghost to witness history in the raw way it was intended, only to come back and harbor the pains of going backwards. She’d never understand their full pain, she could only educate herself and hope that that injustice would never happen again in her history.

After skimming through more of Aida’s books and realizing how little of it she retained, Lorian picked up the shortest read and went near the windows for light.

She got to page ten, most of which was a glorified chapter about how great the Roman kings were and are, when she heard someone call her name.

“Lorian, you fuck!”

Between the library and the writing hall was a strip of muddy grass. It was a shortcut between the buildings for her and other officers to travel. Two of them were there, calling for her: Alessio and Matteo, the two assholes she’d befriended that month.

“There he is, little bugger,” Alessio said, catching Lorian’s profile from the window. He climbed onto a rock wall to get closer. “Get out of there and come down. Lunch’s almost over!”

“Alright, alright,” she said, and slotted the book for later.

They were good boys, these two. She liked them enough to hang out with them while not on duty. They didn’t know this, and they never would, but she’d actually known them back at the palace. All officers-in-training had to go through a mandatory training program held by a Constable. Lorian had always favored officers for their rowdiness. She’d watch them work out in secret, sneak peeks at their naked bodies when they’d change. When she’d found that both Alessio and Matteo were working as security details at this academy, her decision had been made. A few faked letters of recommendation and her crafty ability to lie through her teeth and she was enrolled as an officer-in-training in a week.

They’d never known it was her as she paraded around as a young, unfavorable princess with incredibly long hair wearing the dresses she loathed, but she liked to tease them every now again with knowledge she shouldn’t have known.

_“Hey, Alessio, have you ever been persuaded to eat worms?”_

_“Matteo, didn’t you pee yourself after seeing a real lion in captivity?”_

_“Have you two ever kissed on a dare?”_

She’d lied to them, calling herself a good guesser.

She walked out of the library and turned the corner to find her boys, but they weren’t there. The yard was quiet; she heard the teachers writing on the chalkboard from the writing rooms.

She stilled her steps. From her knowledge, she knew nobody could truly vanish from the world for good. Something would always bring you back to where you were meant to be.

A twig snapped behind her, and she was put into a chokehold that stole away her breath. She could’ve gotten out of it easily, but she didn’t want to hurt who, from their laughing, she knew was Alessio. Alessio was a redhead with more power than Lorian believed him to have. Matteo, on the other hand, was softer, with dark, floppy hair and innocent eyes.

Laughing, Lorian took out her rapier and used the butt of the sword to knock the wind out of Alessio.

Alessio gagged and let her go. “Ow! You ass.”

“ _You_ attacked _me_.” She lightly kicked him for good measure. “What’re we doing now?”

“Late lunch,” Matteo said, and shared a loaf of bread. They weren’t students, but through their enlistment, they were given a dorm room that she shared with Alessio and Matteo and three simple meals ordained by their royal regimen. Sometimes, if they wooed the right girl or boy, they’d get sweets and even alcohol, something that was forbidden to officers. All three of them had already gotten drunk in that month alone.

They walked to their preferred eating space that the Academy cheekily called “The Defense Wall.” It separated the school from the villainous farmlands of lazy cows and stupid chickens. What used to be a formidable, three-meter tall fortress from a time period Aida probably knew about was now a blockage from the smelly farm animals that provided the school a portion of their eggs, milk, cheese, and occasional meat.

Lorian hopped atop an abandoned wagon of hay to scale the tall wall. Alessio followed her, and they needed to help Matteo make it due to his size. There, they shared their bread and butter and made horrible jokes for hours that, if any other officer heard them say, they would’ve had their hands whipped. Lorian had had her fair share of that back home and was keen not to get struck again for misbehaving.

As Lorian dined, Alessio asked her, “Why do you always spend your time in those libraries? You never read.”

It was true, Lorian wasn’t so much a learned soul as her mother and father pretended she was. She was a physical person who liked getting her hands dirty in order to understand something abstract. This had been her fourth trip to the library that week. The first attempt to find and talk to Aida had failed miserably and she was left hiding behind a bookshelf to spy on her. The other try and Aida hadn’t even been there. The girl kept Lorian on a leash and Lorian had no problem with that. “I _do_ read. I know a great deal of things, much more than you do.”

“Then name two books you’ve loved over the past year. No, five _authors_ , and no poets.”

“You try that. When’s the last time you ever picked up a book?” Lorian reached to pull on Alessio’s hair, but he jerked away and stuffed his mouth with his dry loaf end.

“That Miss spends her time there, doesn’t she?” Matteo asked. “That Aida girl.”

“The traveller?” Alessio asked. “She’s a weird one. I’ve talked with some of the girls in her class, and they say she’s really weird. I heard she’s gonna get the nix, you know?” He made a mark across his neck. “Cut out.”

“What do you mean?” Lorian asked.

“I heard it from my father, and he heard it from Constable Carmine. Word from the Lion is that he’s gonna bar those types of people from secondary education.”

Lorian’s ears heated up. “Carmine said that? And the king agreed to it? When?”

Alessio slowed his chewing at Lorian’s mention of Carmine’s name without his title. She had to stop doing that, being so informal about a man she shouldn’t have known so personally. “That’s just what I heard from my dad, so I think it’s true.”

Lorian rubbed her neck. She knew Carmine well enough to forgo titles when she’d address him in the palace, but after being promoted to Constable, she couldn’t say if this was something he’d enforce under the king’s orders or not. He’d exchange his heart for his duty.

But she wouldn’t have put this horrendous action past her father. He was the most racist, hurtful, selfish person she’d ever known, and she hated herself that parts of his speech and behaviors had sunk into her own bones. It took a great deal of unlearning to undo all of those negative stereotypes, and it took her finally leaving the house and joining the ranks to realize how real Visatorre people lived and how awful the world was to them.

“What’s to happen to her?” Matteo asked when they went silent.

“Dunno,” Alessio said. “Kick her out? There’s only a few of those people here, so it’s not like we’d notice right away.”

“But that’s not fair,” Lorian said. “She hasn’t done anything.”

“That’s not gonna stop them, you know that.”

“Then…I’ll stop them,” she promised, and tried mimicking how confident Aida sounded whenever she opened her mouth. “It’s not right. Do you know Miss Mirko uses a cane because of her illness—” She bit her cheek. “Uh, affliction. Can you imagine walking around with a cane at our age? It's uncouth to belittle those who were born with advantages we weren’t given.”

Alessio pulled a face. “Don’t act high and mighty to me. This wasn’t my decision, I’m just the fucking messenger. And it’s not like we can change this.”

“Say I become a leading Constable, then,” Lorian argued. “I’d rewrite the rules to make them fair for everyone.”

“You wanna be a Constable?”

“Don’t you? Isn’t that the goal of being an officer, to one day be a Constable?”

“Eh, not really. Not for me, anyway. I just needed to get away from my mother, and this was the best option. To be a Constable means you have to put in ten, sometimes fifteen-hour-days and be on the king’s every beck and call. Thanks, but I’m good just being ordered around for simple things.”

“And I wanted to become stronger like my brothers are, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to do everything a Constable does,” Matteo said, and he looked across the field towards the water well. “Oh.”

Alessio and Lorian followed his intent gaze.

“Speak of the devil,” Alessio said.

Stomping down the fields, dress lifted to keep from stepping in cow droppings, was Aida on a mission. Her hands were bunched up in her dress, her teeth grit, and she was mumbling something to herself as her heels plowed through the dry mud. She’d lost her cane, shortening her steps.

Lorian brushed the crumbs off of her chest and stood up higher to better see her. She always walked with such determination, like she truly did not care how other people saw her. Lorian wanted to walk like that one day.

“Do you need a hand, Miss?” Alessio called out.

“Fuck off!” Aida yelled back.

Alessio tensed up. “What the fuck’s her problem?” he muttered.

“S-she isn’t allowed to talk to us like that,” Matteo said meekly. “What should we do?”

“We need to stop her. Hey—”

Lorian palmed Alessio’s chest, almost knocking him off completely before clutching his jacket and keeping him vertical.

“Ow! Lorian, what’s with you today?”

Lorian stared intently at Aida.

Silent tears were running down Aida’s cheeks as she walked. She wasn’t sobbing or weeping, the tears were simply there, though it was hard to tell why she was crying in the first place. It looked like she was off to kill somebody.

When she was out of sight and then some, Lorian got up, told her friends that she was thirsty, and secretly tailed Aida down her chosen path.


	6. Nighttime Visit

She didn’t know what time it was. After egging the Constable’s carriage, she’d found a tree to cry under, then a wishing well to throw rocks in as hard as she could. She’d passed by those officer boys, whoever they were, near the stables an hour ago, but she honestly didn’t care at this point. In her mind, her life was over.

_ “You will no longer be able to attend Durante Academy as a student.” _

She breathed hard through her stuffy nose to keep from crying again. She wasn’t  _ qualified _ ? On what grounds? She was the most hardworking person she knew. Getting into this school was the only way she could become a historian, her fanatic dream that now seemed so stupid in her head. Who was she, without her learning?

Dead, she guessed.

She’d only been at the Academy for less than two months, but she’d found where to find her Nectar. She had to choose her dealers wisely, so she only trusted one chef in the eastern dining area for her fix.

The dining area was closed for the night. Aida knocked on the back doors, waiting for that Aldaían head chef to crack open the door and sell her some cigarettes, but no one came. He must’ve gone home for the night.

She looked down. Beside the door, beneath the window, was a half-pack of abandoned cigarettes. She’d have to thank Circa for one good thing happening to her that day. She'd run out in her dorm room two days ago and was starting to feel itchy.

A twig cracked behind her.

She pocketed the pack. The Moon was waning behind the cafeteria and she had no lantern with her, giving her little to stop whatever creature or person was spying on her.

She waited, hands in fists. No decent person would be out at this hour, but if it was some  _ thing _ —a wild fox, a wolf, even a bear—she could kiss more than her scholarship goodbye. Along with her weak legs and occasional migraines, she also had a horrible immune system. One bite or scratch would send her to the hospital, or worse, back home.

She shuddered, and it wasn’t from the idea of hidden wolves.

When nobody and nothing jumped her, Aida crushed the pack of cigarettes in her fist and haphazardly jogged to her dormitory. She only made it about fifty meters before getting winded. She needed to find another cane. Circa knew she’d basically given up her cane along with her scholarship in the dean’s office when she’d thrown it at that Constable. She wondered if there’d be consequences for that.

She walked up the agonizing three flights of stairs to reach her room. She had to pace herself—one story, rest, one story, rest. She normally kept her head down, but now she couldn’t care to think how her classmates thought of her. She had no one to impress anymore now that she was unwanted.

But hadn’t she always been that way? Had she ever been wanted by anyone, truly needed by someone? Her mother had needed her, but only as a slave, to keep up with the chores as a measly maid. If she couldn’t be useful, even as a slave, she was unneeded.

At least they hadn’t changed the locks yet. If Aida was stealthy enough, she could’ve lived in the attics or basements, sleeping next to fireplace embers to keep warm. That’s what she’d do. She’d show them.

After entering her quiet, lonely, shitty dorm room, Aida locked the door, double-checked that it was locked, then collapsed against the doorframe and sobbed into her hands.

It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t any money to make it in Roma City, and she couldn’t work without a resume. In a few days, she’d have to go back to her home village, head hung down, the last of her efforts and dignity stripped away. Ekaterina and Olga would laugh, her mother would beat her. And that was if she’d take her back. Abandoning them for the fall and winter harvests could've been a death sentence to them. What if she was charged?

Her legs were giving out, so she fell over her bed, emotionally and physically exhausted. She looked out one of her windows that overlooked the front lawn. Beyond the horizon was the bustling country of Roma. If she squinted, she could see the silver domes and stone columns as part of the ancient buildings. She couldn’t see the royal palace—she’d tried; you couldn’t see it from any point of the Academy because of the forest that separated it from the city—but you could see the Colosseum. She assumed the builders had wanted every single Roman person to see the royal brutality from any part of Roma City. Who cared about a palace where they could kill off the poor and weak with a circle marking someone’s forehead?

She finally lit one of her cigarettes and let the smoke dissipate around her irritated eyes. What would she do? Send a letter to her mother detailing her failure? If the dean was cruel enough, he would’ve already sent one. But then what? Return? Become homeless in Bělico, where the winters were unforgiving, or Roma, a place that, even though she’d researched its history, she didn’t know a thing about?

The tears returned. She wiped them on the lace of her pillow. She hated Roma as much as she loved it, she just wished the city loved her back.

Just as she went to flick her cigarette bud on the windowsill, her head tingled.

She held her head in a groan. The tingling turned to fuzziness, then a sharp ache. Her feet disconnected with her nerves and left her feeling like she was sinking through the floorboards. She would’ve stayed on the ground, but she needed to reach her desk. Too many times she’d jump and come back three, four hours later only to land on and crack her glasses. She needed to put them somewhere safe.

She ashed her cigarette and grasped onto the edge of the desk, dropping two of her heaviest books. Now her eyesight was losing her, and she hadn’t even taken off the glasses. Had she?

With the world spinning, Aida reached for her desk. Her vision spotted. Damn her without her cane.

“Woah, careful now!”

She whipped around, dropping her glasses somewhere on the floor. That wasn’t Lorian’s voice, she was sure of that. She didn’t know who it was, but they were in her room, in the corner, a blob of dark black, hiding behind her bed like a common thief.

No,  _ thieves _ . There were two of them reaching out to her. She hadn’t seen them because she’d kept the lights off, but in the light of the moon, she saw a figure no much taller than herself, and then another, running up to her.

“Cripes, you’re such a klutz,” one of the thieves—a woman—said. She sounded familiar. Why did she sound familiar? “Hey, why’d you keep it so dark and dreary in here?”

“What—?” The words slurred in Aida’s mouth. She was tipping over.

A strong hand grabbed hers, then another touched her side, dipping her dramatically as if she were a ballerina in  _ En Tempore Rose. _

The person’s hair flew out in front of her, long wisps of brown locks. Her round glasses caught on the moonlight filtering through her room and showed off the whites of her wide eyes.

Her white pupils, normally dark, were pure white, giving her a wild look. “Careful,” she told Aida. “We can’t have you getting lost now.”

Aida gasped. This woman’s face, the roundness of her face, her Visatorre marking, two circles instead of one…

She gripped the woman’s blue dress. She was desperate for answers, to anything. Who was she? How had she entered her room?

Why did they look so similar?

But then she was travelling, pulled from the universe, and then she was gone.


	7. Investigations

Lorian could not keep up with Aida. It was like she was on a mission to go nowhere. All afternoon and evening Aida stopped around the campus, never attending her evening classes, never going to dinner. Lorian had lost her for nearly an hour through the forest and around the cafes only for her to turn up around a stable. She’d stopped crying, thank goodness. Any more of that and Lorian wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from asking if anything was wrong.

But then Aida might’ve thought ill of her.  _ “Why, just because I’m a girl, you’re asking if I need help? Don’t you have a pigpen to guard?” _

Not that she would’ve known about Lorian’s gender to know that they were more similar than they were different. She’d planned on telling no one about it, but with Aida, she would’ve made an exception. She would’ve told her everything. If only she’d let her in.

She blinked. In thinking over fantasy scenarios, she’d lost Aida again. It was getting dark now, and Lorian didn’t want anyone to see her following one of the only Visatorre girls on campus. Not that she was doing that. She was only protecting her.

She took to the western farmlands. From her sleuthing, she’d uncovered that Aida used to be a farm girl, or grew up on the farm, so, while perhaps uncouth in the eyes of her scholars and peers, she might’ve found solace with the farm animals.

Lorian couldn't relate. She’d hated farm animals since she was very little, all but the horses, like Ether, who were grazing in the pasture with all the other officer horses. But farm life itself fascinated her in a childish way. Never had she worked hard for much of anything in her life, so she always admired those who worked tirelessly for their country to provide for their families. If she were to ever have kids, she’d be sure to teach them these ways.

When she hopped the fence, she was met with a group of highland cows’ hairy behinds and their piles of fly-covered dung.

She groaned and gave them a wide berth. “Should I just tell her?” she asked the cows. “About the expulsion, I mean. She might already know and that’s why she was crying, but she seemed so upset. I just want to be there for her. That’s what a boy’s meant to do, is he not? To comfort a girl down on her luck?”

The cow flicked its tail.

“Ass, that’s it. It’s all ass, isn’t it? You know, she called me a stalker. That’s not true, is it? When she gives me nothing to work off of. Do you know how long it took me to learn her age? Two weeks. She’s my age.”

The cows decided she made unserviceable company and turned their rears to her.

“You’re not helping. What’s the point of an animal if it doesn’t listen to you bellyache?”

When they didn’t answer, she blew her curly fringe out of her face and went to chase after Aida yet again when the sound of horse clopping caught her ears.

She’d trained herself to recognize the different types of horse hooves. Working-class horses usually carried a carriage with them, or had a different sounding gait than to royal horses. Royal horses walked with purpose, bred to be loved more honorably than most humans living in Roma City.

Lorian hid in the stables, hiding between stacks of hay, and listened to those honorary gaits.

“Her performance should’ve earned her a striking, Captain.”

“If word got out that I struck a defenseless girl, Her Majesty would reprimand me.”

Lorian’s mouth went dry.

“But still, Captain,” the man went on, “it’s the principle of the matter.”

“And she went at you with a cane,” another man said, “and she vandalized her carriage. That surely must be just causality to defend yourself.”

“We don’t know if she was the one who vandalized my carriage,” Carmine said. “We’ll speak of this no more, Officer Dowry. I’m tired enough as is.”

Lorian slid to her butt, covering her mouth so that she wouldn’t be heard. What on earth was  _ Carmine _ doing here? She could neither see him nor his men from around the stable, but how,  _ how  _ could the gods’ timing be any less horrible? She thought she’d be free from his tyranny for at least another year.

She’d had a scrap with him near the docks a few days after she’d run away that resulted in her staying in hiding in the woods for a week. She’d ripped down some of her wanted posters in the fish market before applying to work at the Academy. That’s when he’d cornered her, and she’d panicked, flipped him over her head, and plunged him into the harbor with the anchors. He was so daft, not realizing Lorian was in fact the little Lucia he’d helped raise so many years ago. Maybe his age was catching up to him.

She strained her ears. It sounded like he and his men were walking in a circle, their horses treading the same ground.

“What shall we do about her?” one of the officers asked.

“We need to find her first, and take her in for questioning. She cannot get away with that sort of behavior, despite the…circumstances about her expulsion.”

Lorian dropped her jaw. So Aida  _ had _ known, and she’d assaulted Carmine for it. And had vandalized his carriage. What a girl.

“We do have a record on the girl, Sir. Fights in primary school, and she’s estranged from her family. Her mother has been searching for her.”

“What about it?” Carmine asked.

“I’m saying that she doesn’t have a very reputable history. To be accepted to such a prestigious school that you yourself have graduated from, it mars the school’s reputation. And if she’s to act like this, to attack a Constable, who’s to say the rest of them aren’t like this as well? Might we go to every school in Roma and evoke the same rulings?”

“What do you suppose that we do?” Carmine asked. “Arrest her?”

There was a pause. The night wind shifted the dead leaves on the ground.

“I was thinking something a little harsher, sir.”

Lorian’s eyes darted around the fallen hay she was hiding in. A punishment worse than an arrest was…

Carmine was silent, likely thinking how to respond to such an inhumane thought and wondering if he’d show his true colors when he thought he was alone.

“I’ll think of a reasonable punishment when we hear her side of the story. For now, that’s all I’m doing.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure we know what His Majesty has to say to these rejects.”

Lorian almost gasped. These men were adults who were in charge of the safety of all Roman people, Visatorre and others alike, and this’s how they talked about their people? To young girls?

“Captain, if I can be frank with you,” said an officer, “it seems you’ve been quite lenient in your position ever since young Lucia has disappeared.”

Lorian’s foot slipped out from underneath her.

“I can say that all of us are quite worried about her wellbeing, but I don’t want to see her disappearance sully your reputation. You need to stand up to these people, otherwise—”

A horse jerked, kicking up dirt as it reared in a sharp turn. “I know quite well how to do my job, thank you,” Carmine snapped. “Princess Lucia has been on my mind the same way she’s been on all of our minds. Am I worried about her wellbeing? What type of man wouldn’t be? But I’m disciplined enough for it not to ‘sully my reputation’ or have it interfere with my work in upholding Roma City’s values. And if you think it is, you’ll be sure to write it in to Her Majesty The Queen as a formal complaint, do you understand me?”

The men went silent. A horse chuffed, but even it seemed to understand Carmine’s rage about this princess that would never return.

Reigns were tightened, and the horses set off.

“We’ll save this decision for Her Majesty,” Carmine said, voice fading. “Come now. We need to find this boy on these God-forsaken warrant papers. Where're the girl’s dormitories again?”

After Lorian could no longer hear the horses, she snuck a glance into the now darkening campus. Carmine was here, searching for a boy but more importantly Aida. And he had his officers with him. He didn’t do that unless the operation was important, or deadly.

She had to do something. Get up. Act. Defend the girl who’d given her the pleasure of treating her as an equal. It’s what a man would’ve done. But that fear, the inability to make a rash decision kept her from leaping into action. Damn this ineptitude and damn her mother for instilling it in her. Everyone knew the queen was as meek as a trodden flower, and her own father hadn’t done much in making Lorian want to speak out or act when she knew a whipping would be awaiting her.

Then she pictured Aida’s smiling face, how her hidden dimples shone on her chubby face, how happy she looked in her dorm room that night, and contrasted it with the pain she must’ve been feeling, knowing her world was crumbling through her fingers.

Checking to see that the Constable had truly left, Lorian leapt out of the stable, spooked a rogue chicken from its pen, and ran.

She tore down the muddy tracks up to Aida’s all-girls dormitory. With the keys to every student building in her pocket, she barrelled into the antechamber and bounded up the stairs with ease. The halls were silent apart from the rickety creaking that came with the building settling for the night.

When she made it to Aida’s floor, she peered out the hallway window. Should she have knocked? Wouldn’t that have appeared badly, a boy knocking on a girl’s bedroom door at midnight? Should she’ve waited outside like this all night, becoming even more of a creep to Aida than before?

Then she heard a thud, followed by a much larger crash from inside the room.

Lorian unsheathed her rapier. “Aida?”

Another scuffle. Someone fell. Through the commotion, she heard Aida’s faint, scared voice ask a terrified question.

No longer able to stand by, Lorian shouted Aida’s name and went for the handle. It was locked.

A metallic  _ zap _ echoed through the room.

“Damn it,” she said under her breath, and crashed her shoulder into the door. If only she’d let her  _ in.  _ “Aida!”

There was nothing. Silence.

Then footsteps. They walked towards the door quietly to mask their presence and unlocked it even quieter.

Lorian thrust open the still-opening door and struck the assailant with the butt of her blade, but with another  _ zap _ of energy and magic, Lorian tripped into nothing. The person was gone, and the room was empty.

She surveyed the space. Aida’s bed was unmade and the room smelled of night air and cigarette smoke. Aida’s discarded clothes were scattered across the floor, and piles upon piles of books were left in tipping piles in the corners of the room. On the walls were clippings of famous operas Lorian had been to in her life, including  _ En Tempore Rose.  _ Aida had a wonderful poster of the opera, with signatures scrawled on the bottom in fancy, beautiful cursive around the ballerinas. It looked like the whole cast had signed it for her.

In the center of her room, amongst the pile of disheveled, tossed-aside clothing, a perfect ring of Aida’s clothing lay. It was like she’d evaporated on sight. Even her hair ties lay in figure eights across her neck bow. Her glasses were not far off, next to the desk on the floor.

Lorian felt the center of the pile.

Warm. She’d just missed her.

A piece of paper pricked her finger. It was nestled within the dress pocket. She went to put it back, then saw the royal lion cress inked on the document and couldn’t resist.

_ In Regards to the Termination of Aida Mirko’s 6-Year Scholarship _

The words hit harder than she’d expected them to. Could scholarships just be taken away so impersonally? To ruin a whole student career on the promises you’d awarded them? It made her core cold with guilt and fear and shame. How could the country which she loved so much treat her people so animalistically? Just because it could? Because the monarch allowed it?

She looked around the room. Should she wait for Aida to return? She would return naked, of course, back from whatever old time period she’d visited, but someone should’ve been there for her during this time.

“Excuse me?”

Lorian whipped around so hard, her short, low ponytail hit her in the cheek.

Carmine and his entourage of officers came up to her. All of them had hands on the hilts of their rapiers.

Carmine eyed Lorian with disgust, then slight terror at seeing her armed. “ _ You _ .”

Lorian tried to hold back, but her fear made her spit out, “I've been called worse.”

Curse her nervous tongue.

Carmine stepped back. “Are you Lorian Ashwell, an officer-in-training of this school’s enlisted recruits?”

As if her uniform didn’t spell that out for him. She tried keeping her heart from bubbling into her mouth. “I am, yes.”

Carmine went for something behind him. “We have no records that a ‘Lorian’ by any name is authorized to hold a royal emblem of the crown and service his kingdom in any regard. We have been asked to apprehend you and take you in for questioning under the crime of falsely parading around the king’s orders.” He smirked, something that didn’t fit his face. “How convenient that you managed to be here. You saved me a trip.”

Lorian’s heart stampeded through her stomach and head. She tried to get up but couldn’t. She couldn't breathe.

Unsheathing his rapier, Carmine aimed his sword down on Lorian. “Come with us, boy.”

Lorian held his gaze. This wasn't fair. None of this was, but that wouldn’t stop them, and it wouldn’t stop her, even if what she was doing was technically illegal that could’ve sent her to prison, the stockades, the gallows. She was just a bit deviant in that regard.

Standing up to her full height, Lorian gripped the hilt of her rapier and crossed blades with Carmine.


	8. Unfamiliar Faces

Aida always tried to land on her feet when she travelled backwards in time, but she wasn’t a graceful girl, so, like always, she landed flat on her fucking face.

And as if Circa couldn’t be any crueler to her, she landed on cobblestone. It didn’t break her skin—you couldn’t get injured in the past—but it still hurt to have her brain rattle from the fall. Was it too selfish to ask to land on some grass? Maybe someone’s bed?

She landed in an alleyway between old, brick houses. It was light out, about mid-morning, but it was hard to tell by how the houses were angled. She was cast in shadows that left puddles in-between the stone.

She rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t hallucinated it, right? Someone had jumped her in her room, which she’d locked and she’d made sure she’d locked because what sane girl left her dorm room unlocked? And she’d been in there for several minutes. It made her skin crawl that someone had been watching her without her knowing. People had the same feelings about Visatorre.  _ “Oh, they can be watching you at any point in time!”  _ It’s not like they had a choice when they jumped, and it wasn’t like they were out to cause you harm. She’d have to look into the break-in when she came back. Not that the Dean would be interested in making her feel welcome.

The unwanted feelings came back in her throat, but she swallowed them down. For right now, her expulsion wasn’t her priority. What only mattered now was the present and getting back her balance.

First thing was first: location. Unlike that jump into the forest where time didn’t really matter, when she had more elaborate jumps, she’d land in the deserts of Aldaí, in the snowy farmlands of Bělico. More often than not it was Roma, for some reason, which is where she looked to be. The buildings were ancient and cramped, the alleyways just wide enough to fit a horse, and she heard the distant sound of carriages being pulled and people bartering for their wares.

Next was the time period itself. What year had she found herself in? It didn’t matter so much in a forest than it did in a Roman prefecture, where she could at least spend her time learning about new fashion trends or accent markings. She liked testing herself without looking at a newspaper or reading the bulletin boards posted in town square.

Noise from the next street drew her out of her dark alley. There must’ve been some type of street fair happening. She saw confetti catch between the abandoned houses.

Once she met with the main road, and once she tasted the electric air, she stepped back and instinctively covered her breasts to retain her modesty.

Not a street fair, but a street  _ festival _ . Or carnival? The birth of a royal heir? Out on the streets, hundreds, perhaps  _ thousands _ of people were flocked in large groups of joyous, cankerous celebration. Pennant flags of every color tossed in the wind as bags of confetti were thrown out the windows in bunches. The people were dressed in elaborate costumes, too, the women in bright dresses and tight corsets and incredibly tacky, pointy hats, the men in tunics and sandals and also incredibly tacky, pointy hats. The street vendors packed the remaining street space, and between them, musicians played live music. Dancing to the flutes were freely roaming children.

Visatorre children. Alongside normal children. And not just the children, but adults, too. There were mostly Roman people with a sprinkle of Bělican and Aldaían people here and there, but they were integrated like it was commonplace. There were no homeless, no mistrust. In this small corner of wherever she was, there was peace between all people.

She stepped out onto the street, her head turning like a mechanical doll.

The Colosseum, standing tall and in perfect condition, was decorated for whatever festivity was happening. It was like it’d just been built, without chunks of stone broken off from the top. The stones shone brightly in the cloudless sky.

And the Roman palace, off to the side of the Colosseum, looked at once completely different and entirely identical to the one she’s familiarized herself with. Its lion flags whipped proudly in the wind. Its famous clock tower was a different colored stone, unpolished, most likely, but the little soldiers were there, as well as the famous painted glass that twinkled at noon.

Instead of looking like relics, the architecture, the  _ feeling _ of Roma City looked perfectly intertwined with the time period.

Aida bit her lip. Her breathing hurt. How far back had she gone? Where on Earth was she? She needed to think, but she was drawing a blank.

She listened to the music. That should’ve helped. The men were playing ancient horn trumpets. They hadn’t been used in nearly a century due to the invention of the sousaphone that the public thought was easier on the ears. Everyone was wearing pointed hats, which had also gone out of style nearly  _ two _ centuries ago because people realized they just needed to bathe with soap to keep their hair from smelling like rot. The corsets were tight for the women, the men wore open sandals instead of boots.

She walked farther up ahead and spotted an officer, or what she assumed to be this time period’s equivalent, talking with a handsome woman. He wore armor and vambraces and carried a heavier sword on his belt than the standard, sleeker rapier of today. If Aida remembered correctly, the Classical Era called these men “gladiators.”

But that couldn’t be right. Gladiators had been abolished along with the city-state of Siina.

Nearly 1,200 years ago.

“Fuck,” she cursed, and let the reality of her situation drown her. She would’ve happily taken such a quiet death sentence. 100 years back in time would’ve severely damaged her body, but to go back more than a millennium, would she even return in one piece? Or would she come back a mass of human skin, her organs spilling out of her open stomach like warm porridge?

She held her intact stomach. This had to be a reenactment, right? But how had they fixed the Colosseum? Why were these Roman people speaking in an accent that almost sounded like a completely new language?

She journeyed through this new Roma. The celebration looked to be more of a world’s fair that was popular back in the day. Pavilions showcased historic inventions that caught the eyes of the wandering crowd. An ancient form of the toothbrush, a new type of papyrus brought from Aldaí you could reuse, a prototype of what they now knew as an aqueduct. Pieces of history Aida and the Neoclassical Era had been using for generations, and they had the gall to have signs saying, “New,” “Reinvention,” “The Wave of the Future. Some of the vowels had been switched for the more ancient spellings. 

She stopped at each tent, taking in the people, the way she spoke, the costumes they wore. No, they weren’t costumes, were they? They were playing a part in a play. These were their everyday outfits, sewn by their mothers in homes they’d built by hand, some of the only clothes they probably owned.

She touched a small dagger on a table. If only she could pick up something, even a stone from the Tiber River. How she’d treasure what a trinket was to these people.

“Heya!”

A loud crash of thunder of lightning behind Aida indicated that a Visatorre just jumped, but when she turned around, she saw no clothes on the ground, no onlookers distracted by the suddenness of the jump. A man with a long beard just hopped back into the world, landing on his feet with a surprising hop in his step. “My, what a night!” he announced.

Two of his friends, one Visatorre and one non-Visatorre, called his name and met up with him.

“Took ya long enough, mate!” one of them said, his accent so thick it hardly sounded Roman. “Whaja see?”

“A brothel a ’omen, I stumbled into,” he said. “What a scene I saw. Musta been 200 ’ears back, and 200 trollops ’ere achin’ for a man. Aye, the things they said were a head-turner.”

“What a find!” the other man said, and the three of them left to continue their day at the festival.

Aida took in the city square in a more confusing light. To not only be injured from a jump, but to come back fully clothed, and happy…

She rubbed her Visatorre marking. This was not only not in her books, this was simply illogical. How had so many history texts gotten history so wrong? Where were the slaves, the poverty? People should’ve been dirty and ruthless. Were these people even at war with Siina and Queen Eve yet? Was this even Roma City, or was it Siina?

She kept going, this time quicker and with more purpose to find answers. Towards the northwest was the Tiber River that cut through Roma City and flowed into the ocean from the northern mountains. Shitty boats bobbed in the water with silly-looking sails that, by today’s standards, wouldn’t have gotten them a kilometer into sea. Men in the most pointy of hats had paper in hand as they judged how each boat sailed. Down the way, Aida spotted a dam that should not have been there, less the countryside to the west would be dry for years. They must’ve fixed that with time.

She turned, found a new invention, a new pavilion, a new Visatorre person whose children’s children were probably dead, living happily, safely.

She covered her mouth, surprised to find her cheeks wet. Tears fell without meaning. These feelings, combined with all she’d been through that day, that year, collectively pummeled her at once like schoolyard bullies her. She sank to her knees. This was all she wanted, and now she had it, but just like with Durante Academy, she knew it was too good to be true, that all of this was destined to implode on her. She’d return to her timeline naked and bleeding horribly, and that freakish stalker would be the only one to find her and do whatever heinous things they wanted to do with her to begin with. This was it. This would be her final jump.

She glared up at the perfectly blue sky filled in with white, mountain-sized clouds. “Is this funny to you or something, because I’m trying really had to find the joke, and I don’t fucking see it.”

Circa, her Goddess, did not answer.

“First you give me a fucked up childhood of which no child should go through, then you raise my hopes with a scholarship to my dream school just to take it away from me before the first semester even ended. Then, as if you haven’t already ruined my life, you bring me back three billion years into the past that I would’ve loved to visit, just so that when I come back, I’ll break my back or choke on my own blood. Then that’s it, isn’t it? Aida Mirko dies accomplishing nothing, further proving that Visatorre have nothing to live for, huh? That we’re meant to die without meaning. Is that it? Huh?”

Circa didn’t answer, so Aida tried to pick up a stone to hurl it at something. She couldn’t, but she tried. To ruin something in the past just to make her mark on it, for once in her damned life.

She growled in frustration and kicked a nearby fountain. “Fuck you! You’re the Goddess of Time! You’re the Visatorre’s God. You’re all we have, and you constantly fuck us over! If you really cared for us—” She choked on her tears. “Give me  _ one  _ good thing in my life!”

The crowds erupted into cheers. Families brought their children onto their shoulders. Others ran towards a cobblestone street. Gladiators began parting the crowds, but they couldn’t see Aida, so they left her by the fountain. The rest of the populace gladly obeyed orders and crammed against the street vendors and shops, where the rest hung out of door frames and windows to see what was coming.

Aida scurried up to the fountain’s edge, distancing herself from whatever was about to happen. She hated crowds. Circa must’ve known that. What a prick of a God.

By how the people reacted, something was coming around the corner. She heard the clopping of horse hooves and a rickety carriage coming her way. She figured it was the start of a parade, and with her luck, it would be for something heinous.

The carriage turned the corner, and the plaza erupted in deafening cheers. Visatorre who’d climbed up to the rooftops called for the people riding in the carriage.

“Your Majesty!”

“Congratulations, Your Majesties!”

It was a boy and girl being driven by four massive Clydesdale horses. They were about her age being driven in a gold carriage. The boy was of Aldaían descent with dark brown skin and black cropped hair. The girl, Aida couldn’t make out her origin, but she was beautiful. Tan skin with brown hair that appeared red in the Sun, tied up in messy, coiled buns. She wore a dark maroon dress cinched at the waist, and instead of a hat, she wore a golden crown that matched the man’s.

The crowd chanted, the man’s name: “Meyeso,” “King Meyeso.”

And the woman, with more power to her name: “Eve,” “Queen Eve,” “Our Beloved Queen Mother Eve.”

Aida’s hand shot up to her mouth as the Royal family of Siina made their way over. They were coming right towards her, making the turn at the fountain. At the top of the fountain was a sculpture of Circa smiling down on them.

Eve, who’d been waving to the masses, suddenly stood up in her carriage. Her husband went to grab her dress in case she fell, but she raised it. Hopping over the railing, she jumped right out of the moving carriage and onto the statue of Circa.

Aida gasped as she watched her fly over her, water sparkling in the sky and creating a rainbow between them.

Eve hooked an arm around the Circa statue, spun in a circle, then laughed and waved to the masses, sending everyone into hysteria.

“Congrats on your pregnancy, Your Majesty!”

Eve turned to the brave person who’d shouted that over the crowds. “My thanks to all of you!” she called out, and the people turned to shouting praise about their queen’s expected child.

None of Aida’s history books said anything about Eve having an heir. Had she had a miscarriage? If so, why hadn’t that been addressed in any way? It was a royal child; historians loved royal children as much as they loved war.

Another carriage came in from near the Colosseum. It was just as grand, with four magnificent horses carrying two equally beautiful heirs. They both were of fair skin and blond hair, the boy growing out a beard that made him look older, the girl with freckles and a demure smile that invited Aida in.

Upon seeing the carriage, Eve squealed, hopped off the statue and landed with a thud onto the cobblestone.

“Wait!” Aida shouted, and ran for her. She was right there, right within reaching distance.

Eve climbed into the carriage and sat right between the two heirs. Aida recognized them as King Julius II and Queen Julia, the monarchs—or monarchs to be—of the Roman Empire.

Aida’s brain stuttered. Four of the most well-known monarchs who’d been dead for centuries. And Eve had been friends with them. The man who’d murdered her for murdering the pretty blond beside him, who was now whispering a secret in Eve’s ear and making her laugh.

Aida risked getting knocked over and climbed onto the carriage to get a better look at them. Even though they couldn’t see her or acknowledge all that she knew about them, she needed this. If she were to die after this jump, let her meet her Queen Eve.

Eve, without the king’s knowledge, was holding hands with Queen Julia. Eve played it off like the touch meant nothing, but that wasn’t the same for Julia. She kept looking down at Eve’s hand, her pale cheeks flooding with confusing warmth. Both girls each wore a matching blue bracelet that’d been crafted with care.

“W-what happened between you three?” Aida asked. “What happened to make the world break?”

None of them answered. Eve just kept smiling at the energy around her. Julia fidgeted by the touch of another kingdom’s queen. King Julius took in his people’s admiration with a proud smile.

Aida pinched at Eve’s dress, the closest she could reach. “Did you really kill her?” she asked, looking up at her queen. “Did you murder this girl?”

The carriage jerked, and Aida’s eyesight blotted out in black spots. She reached out for them one last time, but her body dipped into the road. The last thing she saw was Eve looking over at her—the crowd through her—and waving like a true queen. Then Aida was whisked back into the present.


	9. Familiar Faces

  
  


Lorian hopped over the larger of the two unconscious officers. She had very little space in which to fight Carmine; both of his subordinates were on the ground, knocked out instead of stabbed because she refused to maim anyone. One quick hit with the end of her rapier and another hit on the head with Aida’s bookshelf and they were out. Carmine had tried to run for help, but Lorian climbed over the bed and relocked the bedroom door, sealing the two of them in.

“Y-you’re mad,” Carmine wheezed, and lunged.

Lorian parried his blade with hers. She had her free hand clutched tightly behind her back like she’d been trained to do so. Her fingernails were digging hard into her palm.

“You know that, once this’s over, you’re going to be hanged. To draw swords with a Constable of Her Majesty—”

Lorian circled to his side and knocked him off-center with her shoulder. He tried to stab her in the heart, but he wouldn’t deliver a finishing blow. All these years after being promoted and Lorian had yet to see him kill anyone. Executions were rare at the palace, and without his men, he was just an undefeatable man and she was a person buying time.

For what? For when Aida returned? That could take hours, and Lorian was beginning to sweat. Another ten minutes of this and she’d have to start worrying. It’d already been twenty minutes.

“Give it up,” Carmine panted. He tried again, this time for Lorian’s legs. Lorian hit into Aida’s bed, rolled over it, and pranced back up on the other side, sword still in hand.

Carmine wiped his lips. “Who…taught you how to fight like this?”

Lorian cocked her head boldly. He wouldn’t have believed her if she’d told him that it’d been he himself that’d taught her, that she’d memorized his fighting techniques as a child because she’d admired him as a young man.

Carmine sighed when he knew he wouldn't receive an answer. “This act is growing old. Just end it now. I have three men waiting on my arrival. Once they catch suspicion that I—” He lunged again, this time catching Lorian’s vest and tearing open her breast pocket.

Lorian jerked right, bringing her too close to Carmine’s free hand. She jumped back and, with the sword so close to her, hit his wrist and stole away his blade with her free hand.

Carmine exhaled as he stood weaponless, and Lorian readjusted her grip on now two rapiers. All she needed was Aida, and this fighting would be momentarily paused in lieu of a naked, defenseless girl on the battlefield.

The two of them stared each other down, timing what to do and how. If Carmine was the same as he was back in the day, he should’ve been equipped with a dagger or bladed dart or something with which to defend himself. Maybe he’d thought that a quick visit to a college wouldn’t have called for more than a decorative weapon.

Carmine grit his teeth. “Well?” he asked. “You killed my men, what’s stopping you from killing me?”

“I didn’t kill them,” Lorian said. “See for yourself. They’re stunned, not injured.”

Carmine’s brows furrowed, and he glanced down at the nearest unconscious officer for the briefest of seconds. The man moaned slightly and tried turning.

“I don't kill anyone beneath me,” she continued. “It's not right.”

“‘ _ Beneath you _ ’,” he spat out. “How dare you.”

“Well, you know.” Lorian gripped the hilts of her blades. “Kind of a bastard when it comes to choosing my words.”

“Why're you doing this? What’s your game here?”

“Never knew you were one to make polite conversation,” Lorian lied. He’d been such an introvert at palace parties. “I want to be an officer, nothing more, nothing less, and nobody is taking that away from me.”

“Then why didn't you sign up the way all boys do?”

“My father wouldn't allow it,” she said truthfully, “nor would my country.”

“What, too unfortunate?”

“That’s what you’d like to think. That’s what I was taught to believe, that all boys my age would dream of enlisting, but it’s not that simple. Most boys join as a last result.”

He scoffed. “It’s not a mandatory draft.”

“To certain families, it is. Certain families expect extraordinary things from their children, and the more well-off they are, the worse they expect. Forced enlistment, forced apprenticeships…forced marriage,” she added, “but you’d already know about that, wouldn’t you?”

Out of everything she was saying, she didn’t know why that little quip got a reaction out of him. He snarled, actually bore his teeth like he hadn’t gone along with Lorian’s marriage as easily as his father had. Why had that made him so mad?

“ _ Enough _ of this,” Carmine said. “Now that you haven’t killed my men, I can only assume…” He whipped out a small dagger. “That you shan’t kill me.”

Lorian slowly backed away. “N-nor will you. You’d never—”

“You’ve given me no choice.” He circled in closer.

Her back hit the door. “Wait.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and lunged for her one last time.

She shut her eyes. She hadn’t the time to dodge, to escape. “Wait, Carmello—!”

The blade pinched at the folds in her neck. She froze, as she’d never dare hurt him. She could never. Never kill. Never stoop at low as her forefathers had done in the past. These were the promises to which she held herself.

Carmine, too, had frozen, his dagger a hair away from her jugular. His face, once hardened to take her life, was cracking in perplexity as he stayed his hand.

He leaned in, breathing air into her. “Who are  _ you _ to call me that?”

Lorian constricted her throat to keep herself from drawing blood. “Lorian…Ashwell, child of no one important, officer in training, and soon-to-be Constable to right the wrongs of three generations worth of sin.”

He moved in closer, studying her face structure, her green eyes stolen from the queen. “Do I  _ know _ you from somewhere?”

She faked a smile. Without her makeup, earrings, long hair, blatant attitude, and corset, she thought she’d changed enough to sneak by the general public, but had it been enough for Carmine? “M-Mafi Harbor,” she quickly came up with. “I was caught stealing some fish, I dunked you in the water. It was quite comical.”

“No, I’m sure…”

A zap of electricity pulsed throughout the room, illuminating every corner for a blinding second. Then two eyes appeared from the darkness. “Leave them alone, old man!”

Something struck Carmine and sent him backwards to the floor. A flutter of long brown hair and a dress with multiple layers bloomed in front of Lorian. She couldn’t even register that it’d been Aida’s voice she’d heard, she was too stunned by the sudden and quite ill-timed violence that’d just taken place.

Two more zaps and Aida’s bed creaked loudly at the weight of a person jumping atop it. Two figures now appeared in the moonlight, their dresses and capes fluttering to a still around them.

“Appeared,” because they did not climb onto the bed, and they did not crawl out from underneath it. One man and one woman, once not there and then there, had materialized onto Aida’s bed.

The woman stood wearing circle glasses like Aida, with tan skin and brown hair just like Aida, who was just as big as the stubborn and passionate girl Lorian had come to know over this past year, but this woman wasn’t her. This woman was in her early thirties, and she had her hair down. Since Lorian had known her, Aida always kept her hair in two braids that ran down her front. And to be wearing a formal dress that showed off her bare shoulders with a fluffy petticoat that made her appear bouncy and free, this couldn’t have been her.

But it was, from her eye shape to her hands to her nose, and no amount of subtle changes would’ve dissuaded Lorian on that.

The person to her left, on the other hand, who was holding the Aida’s hand like it meant nothing, was like looking into a mirror. He or she was a few centimeters taller than Lorian and had grown out their hair into a full-length ponytail, and they were dressed as a king would be, wearing a full royal suit of red and gold with a cape tied around their neck. But other than those subtle differences, this person standing before Lorian had to be Lorian herself, just a little older and with the confidence to hold Aida’s hand like they were more than friends.

The woman who looked like Aida fixed her glasses with a wide, un-Aida-like smile. “Well, then,” she said, “I don’t remember our introductions being so obnoxiously loud and tumultuous, but it’s good to see you again, Little Lorian. A pleasure.” She curtsied like she was on stage. “And to Little Me.” She looked around the room, and her smile slipped off her animated face. “Oh, darn it, where am I? I thought I’d timed this out perfectly.”

“I told you we should’ve planned this out more efficiently,” the other person said, very clearly in Lorian’s voice but older, wiser. “We should’ve been listening through the door like I suggested.”

“I was impatient!”

“Oh, you, impatient?” the Lorian said with a smirk. “I would’ve never known.”

“Hey, you said Carmie attacked you, and it’s not like I was here to judge the situation by myself.”

“And you deal with that by kicking him?”

“I get a lot of leverage out of kicking.”

Lorian’s eyes darted from person to person, utterly bewitched by their existence. She felt like she’d just travelled for the first time. What felt natural to them was otherworldly to her, and she couldn’t comprehend the slightest bit of information. How, and why? What, and when? Were they even real, these people standing before her, and how had they jumped backwards into time like this?

She lowered her blades, lost of all answers.

Carmine sat up holding back a bloody nose.

“Circa, Aida, did you have to be so violent?” the Lorian asked.

“I didn’t mean it. Carmie,” the Aida said, “I didn’t mean that, you know that, yeah?”

When Carmine finally got a good look at the two intruders, he gasped. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Can ya guess?” The Aida—Future Aida—pointed to her face, which was so much like Aida’s, it hurt. Her white Visatorre marking had an extra circle drawn inside of it, and her pupils were dyed pure white, making her stare a thousand times more unnerving. 

Carmine looked between Lorian and Lorian’s doppelganger. “What on  _ Earth _ .”

“Luckily we’re just dealing with Earthen qualities,” Future Aida said. “Now, she should be coming back soon, but I know that I don’t like being excluded from any hearings, so in the meantime, let’s catch up. How’s the weather back here? How’s studying going? How—”

Lorian’s rapier was ripped from her hand, and Carmine stood up and aimed it at the two strangers.

Lorian doubletook Carmine’s blade still in her hand. The thief. That was  _ her  _ rapier. Who was breaking the law now?

“I’m sick of these games,” Carmine said. “You three are to come with me, to be questioned by His Majesty’s men under the charges of assault of a Constable and two officers.”

“Oh, enough of that act, Carmie,” Future Aida said. “It grows old. Besides, we’re not here for you, we're here for  _ them _ .” And she pointed down at Lorian.

Lorian didn’t know whether it would be appropriate to draw her weapon at her. She and Future Lorian were unarmed, but like Carmine, they could’ve had a small weapon concealed on them. And who knew? Perhaps they weren’t even human, and mere swords and words wouldn’t harm them in this realm.

The Aida grinned wildly down at Lorian. “You, my dear little one, are in for a whirlwind of a time. You and your missing, very beautiful friend have a task to accomplish, one you won’t realize its importance until after it’s done. From here on out, all Visatorre and Mediocris now depend on your future actions.”

“They don't use that word yet,” Future Lorian informed her.

“Ah, right. Visatorre and  _ non-Visatorre _ . Anyway, Lorian, when Aida returns, go into town. Follow the crowds. Follow my voice. Then—”

A spark of lightning crashed through the room, brightening the room and scattering the shadows, and Aida’s body fell exactly where her clothes lay. Lorian turned away out of respect, but then she heard her gagging, choking, floundering like a fish like something was malfunctioning in her brain.

Drool spilled out of Aida’s mouth as she convulsed. She looked in pain, the way her arms were tight and shaking, legs flailing, but her face was expressionless, aside from her twitching mouth from in inner pain.

“Fuck,” Future Aida said, her bright smile dipping once again. “Ain’t it different from the other side.”

“Aida!” Lorian tripped over a fallen officer to get to her. She slid beside her and cupped her cheeks. “Aida? Aida, are you okay?”

She spasmed against Lorian’s knee, eyes wide yet unfocused. It looked like she was being choked by an invisible wire.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lorian asked the room, hoping for an answer to be shouted out.

“It comes with the territory, I’m afraid,” Future Aida said. “Keep her head steady. Both hands now. Help her out.”

She did as told. She hated the feeling of Aida’s head trying to thrash against her hand to hit the ground, and she hated how she didn’t know how to help her. She hadn’t been this bad when they’d first met. Did all jumps end this badly, with gagging and coughing?

Carmine hovered over them.

“Do something!” Lorian pleaded. “One of you, any of you, please.”

“She’ll be alright,” Future Lorian said. “She just travelled a long way. This’ll hurt her for the rest of her life, but do not worry. She’s still the same girl you fell in love with.”

Lorian faltered on that one line and how strange it sounded when spoken aloud, then asked, “How do you know what’s going to happen?”

Future Aida smiled dementedly. “Can ya guess?”

“This isn’t the time for games,” Carmine said. Despite wanting to kill Lorian minutes ago, he now knelt beside her in trying to help Aida. He centered her head. “Easy,  _ easy _ .”

“Is she breathing?” Lorian asked.

“I believe so.”

“She is,” Future Aida said. “Look, you two, life’s gonna be challenging for you from this point onwards. Your whole world’s gonna fucking blow, but remember that this is going to be so, so worth it in the end.”

“Shut  _ up _ !” Lorian yelled. “God, just shut the fuck up and help us! You’re not making any sense. She’s dying! Can’t you do anything besides fucking act like a child?”

“Uh, she isn’t dying, for one. I’m a good testament of that.”

“Honestly, is it really the time to be arguing right now?” Carmine asked.

_ “Shut up,”  _ Lorian groaned. Even though she had a thousand questions for this pairing, right now, she wouldn’t have cared if she ever saw them again. The fewer bodies in this room the better. Then she could try focusing on Aida’s wellbeing. She’d stopped drooling but was now gurgling. 

“Shit, no wonder they hate us,” Future Aida said. “I can’t think of anything to say.”

“You had a whole speech prepared,” Future Lorian said.

“Well, shocking to no one, I’ve forgotten it.” She checked her watchless wrist. “I think it’s time we scram. You ready?”

“Ready as ever,” Future Lorian said. “Good luck.”

“Like I need it.” She turned to Lorian and bowed. On her left wrist, she wore a woven bracelet that matched the color of her dress. Its single amulet shone against the white of the Moon. “Fare thee well,  _ Your Majesty _ .”

Lorian cringed. She had no idea what she was planning. In truth, this woman probably wasn’t Aida at all, for Aida wasn’t chipper. She didn’t crack jokes, she wasn’t as demented as this poor loon of a girl was.

Future Aida sprung back up with that awful smile on her face and physically jumped off the bed towards them. Before landing on Lorian’s head, she pivoted at the right minute and landed squarely into Carmine.

“Here we go!” she said and, taking one handful of Carmine’s vest, she and he disappeared in a spark.

Lorian fell back on her butt. Once and there and then not. Just like a Visatorre. 

“It won’t be any less surprising,” Future Lorian said, still standing on Aida’s bed. The room seemed to calm down now that a trickster god and the man who was about to murder Lorian were gone. Lorian finally heard herself breathe and Aida groan in pain.

Still holding onto her, Lorian regained her composure and fully addressed this mirror image. They really did look alike, like she was a real queen.

Or king.

“I…don’t remember saying much here,” Future Lorian said. “It’s Aida who usually does all the talking. I apologize for not being much help right now.”

Lorian wanted to ask them at what point during the night  _ had _ they been any help, but she took in their demeanor and pose and contrasted it with herself. How they held themselves, how they hadn’t learned to smile naturally when they were clearly tormented inside. Even the way they stood, slouched a bit to keep their chest from being so pronounced. So much like herself.

“Tell me,” Lorian said, “is what that woman said true? Are you really me?”

It sounded ridiculous when she said it aloud. How could she be talking to herself? She was right here, on the floor, and she wasn’t a Visatorre.

Future Lorian nodded. “Very much so, yes.”

She raked her brain to find a reasonable question to ask them. It felt like she only had one chance at this, like this impossible event could only last a brief moment before they disappeared. “Then…then tell me something only I’d know, something that'll convince me that you're me.”

She regretted it. She had only one secret nearly no one on Earth knew. If anyone found out, Roma would come crashing down in anarchy.

Future Lorian smiled warmly down on their past self. Their eyes looked so much older and softer, like their mother’s.

Placing one hand to their heart and one behind their back, Future Lorian bowed a deep and respectful bow. “I believe we both know the answer to that,  _ Your Highness _ .”

Lorian’s eyes went wide. That was it, wasn’t it? What else had she been waiting to hear? What had she been hiding from since waking up and deciding that she would never marry Prince Zaahir of Aldaí, that she’d no longer be Princess Lucia of Roma, but be Lorian fucking Ashwell, a person of her own design?

Future Lorian straightened. “She’ll be back soon,” they said, “she” in reference to Future Aida.

“Where did she take Carmine?” Lorian asked. She should’ve called him “the Constable,” but with two unconscious officers and an unresponsive Aida, she decided she didn’t have to be careful with anyone but herself.

“Aida will discard him far away from here, giving you two a chance to escape.”

“Escape where?”

“Into town, although you don’t take the advice. What you and Aida have done tonight is treasonous against the crown. Hitting a Constable? Fighting Carmine and his dogs? The city will be after you, so you need to disappear however you see fit. I’d tell you what I think you should do, but I do believe you won’t take any advice I give you.”

Lorian pressed her lips together. “That attitude never goes away, huh?”

“Alas, it does not,” they said, and turned as if ready to jump into time themselves.

“Wait,” Lorian asked, “how are you here? You’re not a Visatorre. You can’t time travel.”

“Aida can take any living being with her into the past so long as she is touching them.”

Lorian looked down at the Current Aida, her Aida. She was panting in pain, each breath laborious, and trying to turn her shoulders to no effect. “How?”

“You won’t believe me if I told you,” Future Lorian said. “Just trust us. All of this is in Circa’s hands.”

“Circa?” she asked. “The Goddess of Time?”

A flash of lightning and Future Aida came back. She plopped down beside Future Lorian and almost fell before they caught her.

She whipped her head around to Lorian. “Good luck, kid, and take care of me! I’ll wake up soon!”

“Wait—”

As if she could stop Aida, in any timeline.

Taking Future Lorian’s hand, Future Aida stuck out her tongue, threw up a peace sign, and vanished, leaving Lorian with an injured Aida, two unconscious officers, and a kidnapped Constable who wanted both of them tried by the crown.


	10. Escape Plan

She breathed in, breathed out. Aida gasped in, weakly breathed out, eyes watering from staying open too long.

Lorian, still unable to properly move, took Aida’s glasses and folded them into her pocket. Then she took Aida’s school uniform and folded that, too. It was the easiest for her to wear. She couldn’t bother with her socks or bloomers. The only thing that mattered was getting her somewhere safe.

The unconscious officer nearest them groaned. Lorian stilled, then began dressing Aida as quickly as possible. She forced the white collar over her head, then her arms.

Aida choked on a guttural groan.

“I’m sorry.” Lorian lifted her upright to get the rest of her dress on. Aida was double her size, she couldn’t lift her without risking dropping her. “Just stay with me, Aida.”

Her head suddenly dropped, sagged, and Lorian’s head fell with it. “Aida?”

The officer stirred again.

“Aida?” she whispered.

“Mm…” The spittle returned and spilled off her lower lip.

Lorian wiped it with the back of her cuff. She wished time would freeze at that exact moment so she could’ve thought things through. She needed a minute, an hour. She needed a clear head and steadier hands.

But she didn’t have any of that. She couldn’t afford space to think with Aida like this. Action needed to be taken, whether she was ready for it or not.

“I’m sorry,” Lorian repeated, unsure if Aida could hear her, “but you need to stand. Can you do that? Stand?”

Her chin stuck out, trying to speak.

Lorian worked with her and got her standing before any of the officers regained consciousness.

_“She just travelled a long way. This’ll hurt her for the rest of her life, but do not worry. She’s still the same girl you fell in love with.”_

Lorian teared up. Visatorre could travel ten, fifteen years into the past without much damage to their physical and mental states, so what had Future Lorian meant? How much of this Aida had been taken from her?

To check, Lorian lifted Aida’s head.

She, too, was crying. Not in the normal way people did. The tears simply fell like raindrops without much expression, like her mind was fighting with what she needed to express.

Lorian held her cheek and waited for her eyes to meet hers. “You’re going to be okay,” she promised, “but we need to leave now, okay? We’ll leave together. I won’t leave you behind.”

Her mouth parted to speak. Her weak breath hit Lorian’s nose in tiny puffs.

Then she doubled-over and puked. Lorian jumped back, then held back her curly hair so none of it stained. Without her hair in braids, it was wildly curly and unkempt.

“Alright, alright.” Lorian helped her onto her two wobbly feet. “One of the better times to have your cane and, what, you throw it at Carmine?”

Aida huffed on what sounded like a laugh as the two of them exited the room and fled down the stairs. Lorian found the servant stairwell easily—the old architecture reminded her too much of the palace—and helped guide Aida down the cramped stairwell.

_“Your Highness.”_

It wasn’t possible for a person who looked exactly like Lorian to know her secret. She’d just didn’t want to marry a _boy_. It didn’t make sense. She didn’t know if she wanted to be a royal child anymore, but ever since she was conscious enough to understand her future, she was adamantly against being married off to a prince. Her and Beatrice—“Bea” when they were young—had been betrothed at six years old. She’d been gifted to King Dmitri from Bělico, a once twenty-five-year-old now forty-six-year-old nasty man who cared for animals better than he did women. Prince Zaahir was only two years older than Lorian, which she had to be grateful for, but she was still never in favor of it. She’d wanted the freedom of choice, of love. All of which, according to her father, women shouldn’t decide for themselves.

She left those thoughts in Aida’s dorm and helped Aida to the ground floor and out the back door.

She turned them from the main path and kept away from the trees in case they stepped on a branch or Aida tripped over a root. She didn’t know the extent of Aida’s injuries, whether it originated in her back or her leg or somewhere deeper, so she went slow for her sake.

It helped that she had no idea where the fuck she was going. She’d fought Carmine, knocked out two officers. Future Aida had taken him somewhere, which Lorian would no doubt be charged for. With admitting that she'd been the one to knock Carmine into the Mafi Harbor that summer—it’d been the talk of the town, she relished in it—she was a dead man. Either her parents would realize her identity and lock her away with Zaahir in Aldaí, or she’d be hanged in public as a disgraced man, or woman. Maybe her father would still see her as a “disrespectful brat,” just like on her wedding day. She’d been slapped in front of everyone for calling him a bastard. She hadn’t meant it, she didn’t think, but it didn’t stop him from outpouring his disgust onto his child.

She trekked towards the forest separating Durante Academy from the first town. It was a ten-minute walk of either farmland or trees. She didn’t know what would be most beneficial for Aida and their safety.

Before disappearing into the night, Lorian leaned Aida on a tree. She’d kept up well, but her knees were now shaking. She hadn’t yet spoken. Lorian didn’t know if she could anymore.

No. Future Aida, aside from a few quirks, looked and acted normal. If they were to be the same person, her Aida would be fine, right?

“Lorian?”

Lorian gasped and almost unsheathed Carmine’s sword. It was larger than hers and didn’t fit well in her holder, making it harder to take out.

Alessio and Matteo ran up to them. They were still in their uniforms, but their swords were missing and they looked confused and a little taken aback by Lorian’s stance.

“What're you doing?” Alessio said, then smirked at Aida. “Running off for a quick session in the forest?”

“Not the time,” Lorian said.

By her tone, Matteo’s brows stitched in concern.

Alessio raised a hand to his belt, his smirk remaining. Then he noticed Aida’s heavy breathing and the spit staining her jaw and he slouched his shoulders. “Something happen to her?”

“She jumped. Far. It’s bad. I don’t know what to do.”

Aida coughed, spit and phlegm jumping from her nose. Lorian wiped it on her sleeve. There was blood in it.

“Oh.” Alessio stepped back. “Oh. Fuck, okay.”

“What should we do?” Matteo asked. “Is she well?”

“No,” Lorian said. “She was convulsing and drooling. I don’t know how to help her.”

“Do you know how far back she went?”

“I-I don’t know. Far,” she guessed. “Hundreds of years, I think.”

“Woah.”

Alessio’s eyes scanned the ground in front of them, his joking nature drying out as he did the impossible math in his head. “Isn’t that, you know, serious?”

“Should we bring her to the hospital wing?”

“We can’t,” Lorian asked.

“Why not?” Alessio asked.

“Because—” Aida began to fall. Lorian kept her standing. “Because I might’ve attacked Constable Carmine and two of his officers.”

The boys’ eyes went wide in shock. Ever since she was a child, she’d been defiant, abrasive. She was a bastard child through and through, and while Alessio and Matteo might’ve remembered her as a princess that seldom left the castle, they only knew Lorian, a boy who sometimes got too in over himself, who couldn’t act until anxiety tripped him into an unplanned action.

Alessio opened and closed his mouth, then noticed the particular glint of gold in Lorian’s newly acquired rapier.

“Stole this, from him,” she explained, “though, in my defense, he stole mine, so I guess I got the better deal.”

“Are you—Why?” Alessio came up with. “Are you mad?”

“He was going to arrest me. I’m not really an officer. I’m…”

She almost said it, almost. She knew it’d do more harm than good, but she wanted to tell them just so she could stop lying and be truthful for once in her life.

She tucked it away. Another time. “I snuck into the training program. I never enlisted, never trained or went to school for it. Carmine was about to take away Aida’s scholarship, so I went to her room to see what I could do. Then he found me and killed two birds with one stone and tried getting at me, but Aida had jumped and I didn’t want to leave her. So I freaked, panicked. I attacked him, and then she came back, and now I’m here and _fucked_ . Totally, royally, absolutely _fucked_.”

As she spoke, Alessio’s upper lip curled. When she finished, he said, “So you lied to us? All this time, we thought you—”

“Yes, I did,” she said. “I had to. I had to leave my home, otherwise my whole world was going to collapse on me.” She sighed. “Hate me. Disown me as your friend. I deserve it. Just _please_ , before all that, help me help her. Help Aida.”

Alessio didn’t move or blink. He reconstructed the way he saw Lorian, an aggressive officer as well as a liar on top of all her bad traits. Friends didn’t hide things from each other. Friends were honest.

She wouldn’t know. The only friend she’d ever had was Missus Sharma, and Lorian had abandoned her in the middle of the night to chase a freedom she still hadn’t obtained.

Alessio spat on the ground, then cursed and fixed his belt. “Fuck you. Fuck you and your mother. You’re a piece of shit officer and a ruinous man who I hate that I ever associated with.” He helped take Aida in his arms. “There's a hidden compartment in that barn next to our dorm. They use it to store extra hay. Hide there. For the night.”

Lorian smiled. “Thank you.”

“Shut up. If an officer comes by looking for either one of you, I’m not lying. Unlike you, I've fought hard to get this position.”

“Um, ouch,” Lorian said. “I’ve fought hard, too.”

“Yeah, at lying.”

“Oh, like officers never lie.”

“We don't!”

“Um, guys.” Matteo brushed something off of Aida’s lower lip. His finger came back red.

“Crap. Let's go,” Alessio said, and the three of them helped carry Aida to the barn.

;;

Lorian favored this barnyard above all the ones on campus solely because it held only horses. It was near the polo field and kept a variety of pretty colts and mares, even his own, Ether. To keep her identity a secret, Lorian had cut her mane and tail short. From seeing the other horses play with her, she didn’t think the drastic cut had affected her incredible people skills. Lorian envied her for that.

Alessio lifted the hidden door deep within the stable and beckoned them down. There were two short wooden steps they had to take. Lorian made sure Aida didn’t trip. Her eyes were going in two different directions.

Matteo retrieved three plump blankets and pillows from their room and helped set up their beds for the night. Alessio stayed up above, keeping watch with his arms crossed.

“I hope this’s okay,” Matteo said. “Is she going to be alright like this?”

Aida had gone down the second they pulled out the first blanket. She curled up in a ball as if she was cold but didn’t shiver.

“Don’t get comfy,” Alessio called down to Lorian. “You can’t stay down here forever.”

“Bite me, okay?” she said. “Tough day.”

“Yeah, whatever. Where're you from, anyway, since everything you’ve told us was a lie?

“Not everything,” she said, which was true. “I’m still from Roma City. My father’s still a piece of shit. I still worked at the palace.”

“Yeah, I don't believe that last one anymore,” Alessio told her.

“It _is_ a bit hard to believe,” Matteo agreed, “you, working so close to the king.”

“Then don’t believe it. It’s the least impressive thing I've done. I was forced into that prison by my parents and I did everything I could to get out.”

Alessio scoffed. “Surprised you left.”

“I’m surprised you got so far,” Matteo said. “I could never.”

“I’m a bit of a bastard when it comes to rule-following.”

“Yeah, no shit. Come on.” Alessio called Matteo back up.

“Hey,” Lorian said. “Thank you, honestly. I'll be sure to put in a good word with my royal connections to make sure both of you are knighted for your humbling heroism.”

“Screw off,” Alessio said. “You don’t know any of the royals. You’d be lucky if one of the princesses spit in your face and called you trash.”

Feeling like she’d gone too far, Lorian just said, “Yeah, right.”

“Right. Night, asshole.”

“Good night, Aida,” Matteo said, but Aida was already out.

They shut the cellar door and covered it with a bale of hay to make their hiding spot more inconspicuous. The only light Lorian had was a single stream of moonlight that illuminated the scattering flecks of dust.

She stretched out her face and fell backwards into her pile of blankets. The reality of today hit her like a cart of rocks. She’d essentially ruined her life for the second time that year. She wondered if her future self had escaped her trail of bad decisions or if it just got worse with age. By forty, she’d be putting countries at war with a single drunk decree. Her father had done it, why not her?

She turned to Aida. She looked so much different with her hair down like this, glasses off, her face not scowling at Lorian for looking. She looked peaceful, beautiful, in this limited light.

Lorian went to push back her curly bangs, then thought better of it and stayed her hand. What an earful she’d receive about this tomorrow.

She prayed Aida could speak to her by then.


	11. Breadcrumbs

Aida woke up. Then died. And on and on it went, and all the while, she was extremely and indivertibly pissed off.

The first time she awoke, the sky was spinning, stars falling and blurring together, her body ablaze. Then she felt someone close to her, maybe holding her, but she couldn’t form a single thought, let alone demand that whoever was touching her better knock it off before she started kicking.

The last few times she awoke, the Sun was out. She could hear its rays and feel it scorch her skin. When she forcefully opened her eyes and found that she was not burning alive on the surface of the Sun but rather in some basement, she almost went back to sleep. She didn’t want to deal with this. She was on stone, though, giving her a headache that throttled her the moment she was semi-conscious.

This went on for several days, it seemed, her dipping in-between being alive and being something else. Her one constant was that her head hurt and that someone was watching her, always watching her. And the bluebirds. She heard them singing outside, their peaceful lullabies. It helped her keep track of the days.

Sometimes, she felt a large hand cup her cheek, touching her without her being able to tell them to stop or keep going. It was nice, feeling the touch of another human being, but she didn’t know to whom it belonged. Eve? Her mother? When had she returned to Bělico?

Around the third day of her tossing and turning in her own mind, she willed herself out of her slumber. She couldn’t keep like this, so defenseless and annoying. If anything, she needed to wake up and actually see where she was and if she was actually in a basement, because she was now hypothesizing a dungeon and she did not appreciate that.

With her eyesight blurry, Aida struggled to get herself vertical again. It was one thing to be so tired that you didn’t want to leave your bed, it was another to have the will to get up but your body was incapable of pushing you out. She felt like a prisoner in her own body and wanted out.

The ceiling opened and blinded her with sunlight. “Aida!”

She fell backwards and covered her eyes. She wiped down her skin of flames.

Someone touched her. “Are you okay? How do you feel? Are you hurt?”

She covered her ears. Why were they shouting? She did what she had to and shoved them away.

Lorian fell on his ass. “Ow.”

In a rush of confusion and memories, Aida spat out, “What on Earth are you doin’ here?”

“I…sincerely apologize. Did I frighten you? It seems you have your strength back. That’s good.” He looked closer into her eyes. “My goodness, your _eyes_.”

“Where…where am I?” She touched her throat, surprised to find it so dry. They’d hung out that night, right? She’d talked about Pinnacle Isle. No, that was earlier.

“B-beneath one of the stables near the training officer dorm. I’ve kept you here. What happened to your eye?”

She did smell it now—the horses and their thick, wet hay—but around her was also a lantern, a kettle of water, and most of her belongings: a satchel filled with her clothes, a bag of her books, her cane, her glasses. Next to them were two other bags that didn’t belong to her, but they looked to hold some of Lorian’s officer clothes.

Her breathing hitched. “Did you…kidnap me?”

“Oh, no—”

“Oh, Gods, you kidnapped me. Why would you do that? I don’t have anything. I don’t—I—” She felt an airiness between her legs. Aside from a white nightgown, she was completely naked. With a boy.

Her blood went cold. “You sick _fuck_.”

“Aida, you have things mistaken—”

Aida brandished her cane as a weapon and aimed it at Lorian. Her ass was numb. “I knew I shouldn't have trusted you. To think I thought you were one of the good ones.”

“I didn't kidnap you,” Lorian said. “Please, listen to me. I can explain everything. I’d overheard Carmine—the Constable—talking about taking you from the Academy. I got worried, so I went to your room to tell you. I heard a scuffle, I knocked until someone unlocked the door, and you were gone—you’d jumped—and then Carmine—”

“Liar. I didn’t jump. I would've remembered that. I would’ve…”

She paused. _Had_ she jumped? Her, ambling through unfamiliar streets…

“The Constable had been searching for me,” Lorian continued. “You see, I’m…I’m not a real officer. Or one in training. I’d forged the papers to get into the training regimine…”

What streets had she walked through? She remembered a toothbrush. Maybe some hats? A brothel?

“…didn't hurt him, but I did, well, _duel_ him.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The Constable.”

She stared at him. “You fought a Constable?”

“The queen’s Constable, yes. When you came back to us, when he cornered me and was about to kill me, I was…” He bit his lip. “You won’t believe me, I know you won’t, but right before I was outmatched, you and I…came from the future.”

Before she could even process what he’d said, Lorian stammered, “I know it sounds ridiculous, and it is, but these two people appeared from nothing. They looked like us but older, in our thirties or so, and they were spouting out absolute rubbish, and then they, well, _stole away_ the Constable. Or you did. The one who looked like you jumped towards him, snatched him up, and vanished alongside with the future me. And you were convulsing so terribly when you came back, I thought you were going to die. So, without any real plan, I took you down here, and, well, here we are.” He opened up his arms. “In hiding.”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry for these inconveniences. I know you must be upset and hurting.”

No, she wasn't upset. She’d been looking for something, hadn’t she? And she’d found it, but just like everything else in her life, it’d been taken from her…

She slapped a hand over her mouth. _Eve_ . Her husband. King Julius II. Queen Julia. And all those happy Visatorre. In Roma City. No, _Siina_. It must’ve been. She’d gone into the past. And the distant past, too. Ancient, during the time of Queen Eve’s rule over the lost city-state of Siina. How had she forgotten something so important? What was wrong with her brain?

She began to sweat. She gathered her belongings in a rush, clumsily putting on her glasses and strapping on her heels. Why hadn’t she remembered something she’d been hoping for for years?

“Wait, be careful,” Lorian said. “Don't move around too much. They'll be looking for us.”

 _She’d_ been looking for Eve, and she’d found her. She was beautiful and strong and liberated beyond her years. And she’d been pregnant…

She looked down at her hands. 1,200 years into the past and all she felt was a little tired with her memories hazy? How was that possible?

She dropped her hands. “Wait, what did you say?”

“The officers,” Lorian said. “Carmine. They’re both looking for us.”

“Why?”

“Because I attacked them.”

“So? That has nothing to do with me.”

“It…does, in a way. You were in the room when it happened, and that woman—I’ve been calling them Future Aida and Future Lorian—sort of _kidnapped_ him. I heard he was dropped somewhere in the Palace. Because of this, and because they’ve yet to find you and I along with our future selves, they’ve posted wanted posters of us all across the city. At least that’s what Alessio told me. I haven’t been out too often. I did go out to steal back your cane and some of your belongings from your dorm room. I have some cheese somewhere. Are you hungry?”

“Wait, just…” She held her head. “How _long_ was I out?”

“Two days. Your jump had left you shaking and unresponsive. When we set you down, you immediately passed out. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to leave you alone.”

Despite sounding genuinely concerned for her wellbeing, Aida didn’t chance it. He’d gone through her room, but he’d saved her when she was hurt. He’d lied to her, but he’d defended her.

This was all too confusing, and it wasn’t getting any clearer with him. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You said this ‘Future Aida’ jumped forwards in time? That’s not possible. And you’re not a Visatorre.”

“I know it’s unfathomable, but I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I’m just as lost as you are.”

“It _is_ unfathomable, so if you’ll excuse me.” Wobbling a bit from her light-headedness, Aida redressed herself, leaned on her cane, and left through the open door.

“Wait!”

If her botched memories were anything to go off of, he was right about one thing. She, as of this semester, was no longer welcome at Durante Academy. Her scholarship, the tests she’d been studying for, none of that would ever matter again. To ensure that was true, she took out her expulsion letter from her dress pocket, stamped and sealed by the king’s men, and tore it to shreds. She needed answers, and she needed to find a new future.

She sorted through her bags. She had a good chunk of the clothes she’d brought from home, and Lorian had packed away her most prized books including _Pinnacle Isle_ , her journals, and even her signed playbook. How considerate, the liar.

She shook her head. No, he shouldn’t have done any of this. He’d pillaged her room. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t go back and reclaim her possessions. They weren’t owed to the state, and she’d be sure to steal a candlestick or picture frame as a bitter momentum.

“Aida, wait!” Lorian appeared by her side, gripping her arm. “It’s not safe.”

“Let go.” She shoved him off and continued en-route to her dorm.

“Stop being stubborn. Didn’t you hear me?” He looked nervously around the grounds. “We’re _wanted_. A dozen officers have been scouring the campus looking for us.”

“Well, I don’t know why they would be, considering I’m innocent.”

“Not in their eyes, you’re not. You attacked the Constable.”

“I threw my cane at him.”

“And they’re connecting you with this Future Aida. Apparently, she’s been playing with the Constable, stealing his hats and freeing his horses. Everything she’s doing, it’s falling onto you.”

“Well, I still don’t believe all this future talk. It sounds like you’re making it up. Which, if I have anything to go off of from you, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Lorian threw back his head. “I didn’t know you were this…this…”

She waited for the insult and to throw a worse one back at him.

“Strong-willed,” he landed on.

Her eyebrows shot up. How rare it was for someone to give her a compliment.

“Fine. If you’re not going to listen to me, at least let me walk you to your dorm,” he said. “That’s where you’re going, right? I heard they’ve been through there, looking for clues to where we went.”

“Are you serious?” she asked. “The nerve of this Academy. Why did I ever want to come here in the first place? I heard it was elite, but I didn’t think it’d be this forward with immorality.”

“Welcome to Roma,” Lorian said, throwing up his arms as they turned the corner, “where the people are terrible and the history is even more—”

He jerked back, grabbed Aida by the arm, and brought her around the building they were about to pass.

“What?”

“Shh,” he said. In the distance, two men were arguing and growing closer.

“I said I don’t _know_ , sir. I apologize for being unhelpful for this ghost chase.”

Taking a peek, Aida saw a red-haired officer-in-training and an officer arguing near one of the school’s wishing wells. The boy was about their age and had his chin held high, hands defiantly on his hip bones.

“I already told Officer Vato,” the red-headed boy said. “I saw Lorian and that girl leaving through the forest. By the time I came over to ask what they were doing, they were gone. Neither Matteo nor I could find them. It’s as if they both jumped.”

“We searched the forest from top to bottom. Their footprints end at the forest. Are you sure they went in?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, they were gone before we came. And I’ve already searched through his supplies and his side of the room as per my initial orders. I found nothing. I have nothing. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help at this time.”

Lorian gripped his bag straps as he and Aida eavesdropped. Were he and this boy close? Was he bluffing, or did he have worse memory problems than Aida? She tried reading their expressions. Both seemed like incredibly good liars.

“By all means, search the grounds again,” the boy said. “I’d help, but I have sparring practice to finish.”

“Your sparring can wait,” the officer said. “Come with me. We’ll do a more thorough search around these parts.”

“Do you believe me now?” Lorian whispered to Aida. “We need to be careful. I can’t be found out. I’ll be killed, and you’ll be thrown in jail without having a witness to defend you.”

She chewed on her inner cheek. “Trust” wasn’t something she gave out easily. In fact, she didn’t know if she’d trusted anyone in her life. Her sisters? No. Her mother? Absolutely not. Who else did she have to put her trust into?

Lorian, she guessed.

She found herself nodding despite her better judgement. “Okay,” she said. “Where should we go? Back to that crummy barn?”

“I think, just for the time—”

“Hey!”

The larger officer was looking straight at them, sword drawn for attack. “You two, stay right there!”

Cursing under his breath, Lorian unsheathed his own rapier and readied his stance. “Aida, go! Take my horse!”

“Where?”

“The horse stables behind us!” He ripped something off of his neck and threw it at her. It was a necklace with a horse whistle attached to it. It was engraved with gold and silver, the horse head shimmering in diamonds.

“Go!” he yelled when he caught her examining it.

He was insane. An absolute nutter. To attack not only the queen’s most-trusted Constable but also another officer in the same week, just for her…

The corner of her mouth twitched in a smile as she took off towards the nearby horse pasture. What a lad.

Dozens of horses grazed in the short grass, unaware of the fight happening close to them. There had to be twenty. “Wait, which one’s yours?” she called out.

“Ether, the palomino one!” He said more, but the clash of steel against steel drowned him out.

Aida didn’t look back. She spotted the gold-coated mare grazing by herself near the white fence. Luckily, the door had been left open, so Aida ran down the trodden-down earth and entered the field.

She’d ridden a few horses in her life. When she’d been lighter and her mother thought kinder of her, she’d ridden their horses for practice, sometimes even for fun, when nobody was in the house and she could smile comfortably without being made fun of. But then her anxiety built up, along with her weight, and now she was nervous about getting on the back of one.

She circled the horse, testing its friendliness. “Hey there.”

The horse thrashed its head.

“Oh, c’mon.” She looked around for treats, then examined the horse whistle. On the necklace was also a silver ring and a giant key, though she didn’t think the other two were too important for the task at hand. “This what you want?” she asked and blew into the whistle.

The horse's ears perked up. She looked Aida right in the eyes, then sniffed between her ear and temple.

“Overly-friendly,” Aida commented on, earning a little nip around her ear. “Just like your owner, ’ey?”

The horse chuffed.

“Okay. Don’t buck me, I swear to God.”

Ether had on her saddle—she didn't know officer horses just kept those things on—so it was somewhat easier to climb on. Still, she felt like the saddle would fall off or that she’d fall and hit her back or twist her leg. But the horse was good, far better than most humans, and she maneuvered to her weight so Aida didn’t fall.

Out on the main courtyard, Lorian whistled.

Trained to his voice, the horse obeyed her new trainer and galloped out of the pasture.

Aida hunkered close to the horse’s center. Why was she going so fast? Why did she move like the wind despite someone as heavy and clumsy as Aida riding her? She must’ve been well-trained, and well-bred. The rich bastard.

He was gone. Lying on the ground was the officer, unconscious with his hat knocked off of his head. Alessio was staring around one of the stables, then jumped at Aida’s arrival and her horse’s lack of direction.

“Aida!”

She turned. Lorian had found himself another horse, a dark brown colt with white spots and black reins. He galloped towards her with Ether ready to follow.

“Hey!” the red-haired boy shouted. “Stop! That's my horse!”

“I'll return her, Alessio, I swear!” Lorian said. “I'll drop her off at the colosseum! Find her there in a day’s time!”

“Fuck you, Lorian! That’s my horse!”

Aida just waved at Alessio as Ether ran after Lorian. While she normally justified certain “borrowing,” she couldn't really condone stealing someone's horse. She supposed this was a special case.

“You’re a desperate, incredibly stupid man,” Aida said at Lorian, “and you’re gonna get both you and me killed.”

“Thank you,” he said, “but, if you’ll believe me, I did see our future selves this week, so there's a chance both you and I continue living and making bad decisions for a long time.”

Aida concealed her smile by staring up into the sky. “Fuck you.”

The two of them rode down the path leading away from the Academy and into a denser part of the forest. Here, the trees curved in around them, the branches masking them from the Gods likely judging these two misfits who’d broken a number of laws that week. After ten minutes of Aida bracing her legs and back from the horse's gait, Lorian settled into a normal pace beside her.

“So,” Aida said, “in the case that I do believe you and that you’re not an insane, sword-wielding liar who wouldn’t lie to a fair maiden such as myself, what on Earth am I going to do with you?”

“Well, when I’d left my home, I’d hopped from tavern to tavern, sleeping in rooms while doing labor work on the side to earn my way up. I know a few taverns that we can stay in, but they’re few and far between in terms of safety.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said, then quickly corrected herself by saying, “not in the same room, and I don’t have any money. If I can’t go back to my dorm, this”—she showed him her bags—“is all I have now, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me? You’re lucky I went back to collect your things.”

“You’re right. I’m the luckiest dame in the country.”

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

Aida looked up at Lorian’s hurt face, and she backpedalled. That wasn’t the reaction she’d wanted. She thought she was being funny. Isn’t this what friends did? “No. I apologize. I’ve just been through one fucking weird week, or a lifetime. Oh!”

Her startlement shocked Lorian and his stolen horse. “What? What’s wrong?”

“My trip! My _jump_ !” she said. “Fuck me, fuck seeing our fucking future selves, I saw _Eve_!”

“That queen you like?”

“ _‘That queen’,_ he says. Yes, you dolt, the queen! _My_ queen. Good God, how did I forget to mention that?”

Lorian stopped and stared at her. “As in the queen from 1,200 years ago? You saw her?”

“Yes, yes!” Her mouth hung open, trying to decide where in the story to start, when the sound of electricity cracked and ignited so close to her that Ether whinnied in alarm.

The person jumped right in front of their horses, but she hadn’t come back the way you were supposed to, naked and delirious. She’d come back like that man in Siina: fully clothed, wearing a beautiful blue dress that sparkled like a summer ocean, and she was smiling. Her grin was wild and manic.

She was Aida. Or her future self. Her mirror image, doppelganger. While she wore her hair down and smelled of vanilla, the roundness of her cheeks, the shape of her hands, the dotting freckles that only came out when she was in the Sun. Whatever this was and whatever Lorian had poorly explained to her, all of it was proven true upon her arrival, a catalyst to chaos.

“Hey, little me,” Future Aida said. She teleported again, this time too close to Aida’s right, and her bags were ripped away from her. Another jump and she was in front of them, the booms from her jumps still sizzling in the air.

“Hey!” Aida said, reaching for what belonged to her.

“Hey again!” Future Aida said back. “And no, you’re not getting these back unless you chase me for them. Come on!” She jumped back farther and farther down the path, her presence fading as quickly as it came. “Hey, don’t you want these back?” She took out a handful of Aida’s playbooks and spread them out like playing cards. “If you don’t want them, I’ll be happy to dump them in the River Tiber for you. And you _know_ I will.”

“Wait—!”

“I’m not waiting, Aida, you know I won’t! Now, come now!” She laughed. “Off to Roma City!”


	12. Welcome To Roma

Aida steered frightened Ether back on course. “Wait! Give me back my things!”

“Hold on!” Lorian said. “She might be dangerous!”

“She’s me,” Aida said, but she didn’t know how much weight that carried. From years of being alone, she knew herself inside and out, from her faults to her gifts. Never would she’ve been this reckless or loud and, well, annoying. What a child this “Future Aida” was, playing keep-away with her when she should’ve known she was still recovering from her jump.

This woman was crazed. Jump after jump she carried herself down the path, hopping down the trail, stooping in trees like an observant owl, pretending to bide her time by kicking a stone when Aida and Lorian were too far away. This was all a game to her.

As they descended into the farmlands and Roma City’s vineyards, Aida noticed that Future Aida was pacing out her jumps. At times, they lost sight of her for minutes, only finding her sitting atop a farmer’s shingled roof. When they got close enough, she saw Future Aida panting, a haggard expression making her smile look all the more fake.

“She’s baiting us,” Lorian said.

“I know, but I can’t imagine her hurting either of us. You saw the two of them in my room, didn’t you? So we know we aren’t going to die now.”

“But we can’t trust her.”

“ _ Do _ you?” she questioned. “She’s wired. I just want my things back.”

“Well, it  _ is  _ hers.”

Aida rolled her eyes. “We’re not doing this. From here onwards, she is she, and I am me. We are not the same.”

“Whatever you say,  _ Current  _ Aida.”

Her jaw clenched to keep from smiling.

The grape vineyards that seemed to stretch on for acres ended at the entrance to the city. And it was massive, the entrance marker. Pillars the size of palaces holding up ancient concrete archways with scrawlings written in the dead Latin. They were more than 3,000 years old, dating back before Eve and the growth of Siina. It used to bring travellers to their knees, thankful to have finally made it all this way, while slaves had told horror stories of the ancient archway. Now, nothing but weeds and dandelions grew around the stone, dating it as a forgotten piece of architecture.

They’d lost sight of Future Aida again, but how could they track her here? As they passed the market and entered into the main streets of Roma City, the people were about in full. The cobblestone streets held rickety carts guided by Bělican oxen, their usual thick fur shaved to adjust to the mild Roman autumn. It must’ve been a market day, for hundreds of small shops had their doors open with signs and banners welcoming in customers. Street carts sold everything from bread to ice to meat to exotic bugs trapped in wooden cages for children to admire. A musical group played lively music near a fountain, and children danced while their parents bid and bartered.

Aida contrasted the scene to her jump. She tried tracing the streets, to find where exactly Eve had come from and walk in her footsteps once again, but it was hazy. The street layout was different, the buildings either redesigned or torn down completely. And, despite trying to remember so hard, she couldn’t recall exactly where she’d been.

Though not too far off, Aida made out the famous clock tower of the Roman palace, then the nearby broken stone of the Colosseum. One said a true Roman could never be late, for they could always look up and see the time.

She saw a few dozen people with Visatorre markings, but they didn’t make her feel any better. They weren’t the ones manning the shops or entertaining the crowds. They were hiding, in the alleys and sitting on planks of wood without jobs. Those who were brave enough to be in the sunlight were dressed down in layered rags. The Visatorre children were skinny, the woman waited in the darkest alleys. Some looked okay, which comforted Aida, but it hadn’t been like this in Bělico. In Bělico, everyone worked. Visatorre overworked because they needed to, tending to crops and herding the sheep for their employers. In Roma, it felt like they were unneeded ghosts.

What hurt the most was that Aida found herself looking away from them. When she caught herself ignoring their plight, she cursed herself and went to the first Visatorre sitting near a broken set of columns holding up nothing. She offered what she had left: a few bronze Lyria. The man gave her a short nod, clutching the coins like diamonds in his gloved hands.

“Aida?”

“I’m coming.” She guided her horse back to Lorian, who was watching her intently with a question on his mind.

“Do you do that often?” he asked.

“When I can. Do you?”

He thought about it, then said, “I always thought my contribution as an officer was enough, but after living in the real world, I now understand my ignorance of my people’s plight is what’s blinding me.”

“You got any Lyria to throw their way?”

He smiled. “A few coins, yes. Once we settle down, remind me to make a donation to a shelter.”

“And find my bag. You’re tall. Do you see her?”

He peered over the heads of the crowds.“I do not.”

They decided to hop off their horses and weave through the streets on foot. The crowds along with the noise of bidding and exclamations of prices made Aida fold in on herself. She tucked her head close to her horse and stared into its side, hoping nobody would look at her.

A sneaky arm wrapped over her shoulder.

She looked up at Lorian. “’Ey.”

“Where to, Miss?” he asked coyly.

“What a gentleman you are,” she said sarcastically, but she couldn’t find what was sarcastic about it. True, he was smiling, and she was, too, so why was she against this? “Would you be doing this if I was a boy?” she asked him.

“Well, it’d depend on the boy.”

“How about that boy back there at the Academy?”

“Oh, definitely not.” He scouted up ahead. “Do you not like crowds? I can drive us down a different route. I know these streets very well. We’re close to the Palace.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll get out of here soon. I’m just not used to it, so I can fix that. But we shouldn’t walk near the Palace.”

“No tour around the Palace gates?”

“Eyes ahead, officer.”

He obliged. “Oh, speaking of eyes, do yours feel any different?”

“Should they feel different?”

“Well, your right pupil is completely white.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, startling their horses backwards. “What?” She tried opening her eye, then gave up and trotted over to the nearest fountain sputtering out drinking water. The stagnant water was a little murky, but it did the job as a needed reflection.

She knelt down using her cane to get a better look at herself. She tried to blink it away, tried to blame it on a cloud breezing above her, but it was permanent, unevening her and making her stand out even more.

The red-haired boy’s horse took a drink from the fountain. It rippled Aida’s stunned expression.

“It must've appeared when you came back from your jump,” Lorian explained. “After you met Eve, was it?”

“Yeah.” She tried rubbing at her eye again.

“Was it everything you wanted?”

“What?”

“Meeting Eve,” he said. “Was it everything you wanted?”

She should’ve said yes. Should’ve, but then she’d be lying. “I don’t know. She wasn’t anything like I’d built her up to be in my head. She was our age, jumping around her carriage and fountains. And she was a lot shorter than I imagined. She was a bit like…” She stopped herself. “She was just different.”

“But not bad?”

“She’s Queen Eve. She’ll never be bad in my eyes.” After splashing her face with the cool water, Aida set off. “If every day I grow closer to looking more like that woman, I’m gonna throw myself off the palace clock tower.”

“Eve, or your future self?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“I think she’s rather charming, in a crude sort of way.”

“She’s deranged, Lorian. Don’t tell me that’s your type.”

He simply laughed as he turned a corner, the street layout somehow memorized in his mind. Then his face fell. “Uh oh.”

“Don’t ‘uh oh’,” Aida said, then looked to see what he was “uh-ohing” about.

Tacked onto a bulletin board were two expertly drawn pictures of Aida and Lorian. They were the newest, covering the posters of murderers and tax evaders for everyone’s eyes to hone in on.

“Uh oh,” Lorian repeated.

“Stop that.” She grabbed his horse’s reins. “Come on. Let's go this way.”

“I wouldn't.”

“Why not?”

To answer, all he did was point ahead.

The shock of so many bodies hit her first, then the loudness, and then the massiveness of what they came to see: the Colosseum.

When her family had visited Roma City, Aida hadn't realized the wrongness of admiring such a bloody history marker, but she’d been young. Now she knew its history. It loomed over her, blocking out the clouds with how tall it stood. The Sun filtered through the hundreds of arches rounding around its curve, where a few officers and tourists poked their heads out to wave at the people in the plaza.

She held her heart. An unfamiliar type of pain entered the careless organ. Countless people had been slaughtered for sport here, but when Queen Julia had been murdered, the entire 100,000 person-populace of Siina had vanished in a bloody ocean of innocent lives.

The plaza itself held more tourists than she could count. Food carts, fountains, statues, benches, patches of grass and trees where children and dogs played. As Lorian led her into the crowds, she spotted Bělico farmers in their sheep-wool ponchos, Aldaí families wearing their robes, headscarves, and elegant dresses made for the desert Sun. Tour guides, families on vacation, carriages stationed so their horses could drink from their troughs, Roman Visatorre.

Her light-headedness came back. The chase and run from Durante Academy had her blood pumping, now it drained to her feet and left her dizzy. So many people, so much noise…

“Aida?” Lorian asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

She closed her eyes as she let Lorian lead her. “When I saw Eve, there was a type of festival going on. Visatorre and non-Visatorre were mingling like friends. I didn’t even see any slaves or Visatorre being treated unfairly, which I should’ve seen for the time period. And I saw boats used during that time, and the Colosseum—” She tried looking at the top Colosseum arches a few streets away. “It looked brand new.”

“Isn’t that, I mean, I thought Visatorre could only jump a few decades into the past.”

“If that. It’s a miracle I survived.”

“Is there any chance it might’ve been earlier?”

“The people were screaming her name. She was pregnant, and Visatorre were able to jump without pain. I saw one man jump two hundred years back. Lorian, history is completely different from what we knew.”

“But if what you saw was true, that means Visatorre—”

“Were a free people, well-integrated into Roman society, who were able to jump without pain. They were like gods.” She didn’t know why, but she held Lorian closer. “History is wrong, Lorian. A thousand years ago, Visatorre weren’t slaves or thought of as lesser, not like they are now. Something happened between now and Eve’s death that fucked us over. Your history, my people, it’s like they were cursed. I mean, who knows if Eve or Julia even died, you know?”

“You think they’re still alive?”

“Preferably, yes.” They entered deeper into the crowds. “If my future self can jump in the future, why not her?”

“Well, I hope for your sake, it’s true. If anyone can figure out the truth, it’s you.”

A man bumped into them without apologizing.

“There must be something going on today,” Lorian said. “It's never this busy. Perhaps there’s a town meeting, though my…the king doesn’t work on Sundays.”

Aida stared at the ground to keep focus. She felt nauseous and didn't know how far she’d be willing to go to get her possessions back. What could’ve happened? Was Circa behind it? She was their Goddess of Time. If she could’ve stopped anything bad from happening, she would’ve surely done so. That’s what Gods did, they protected the people who believed in them.

“Shit!” Lorian stepped back on Aida’s foot.

“What?”

The crowd around them erupted in applause. The taller folk stood on their tiptoes while parents grabbed their children and raised them in their shoulders to better see. Something was happening near the Palace, the Colosseum.

Aida cursed her small height. She hopped to better see over a bald man’s head. This was just like her jump, when Eve had come into town.

“I-it’s nothing,” Lorian said. “We just need to leave. Now. It’s not safe.”

Aida crouched down, hands on her bad knees. She couldn’t see much, but through the legs of the crowd she could see them parting quickly, making a circle for someone important.

“Aida, we must leave.” He grabbed both horses’ reins and tugged them away. “Hurry.”

She didn't. There must’ve been a reason why he wasn’t disclosing who was about to enter the plaza, and she didn’t think it was because their safety was in jeopardy. She moved in closer.

“Aida, no!” He grabbed her sleeve and tugged hard.

The royal flags, that’s what she saw first. Those yellow and red stripes whipping in the air. Then the officers—constables—atop their horses, wearing their medals and black hats. Constable Carmine of all people, who stood in front of the platoon, gazed fiercely into the rambunctious crowd like a guard dog protecting his family.

And beside him, why the crowds had gathered that morning: Roma’s own King Durante and Queen Rosalia, their daughter and former heir of Roma, Queen Beatrice, her husband and the Bělico king, King Dmitri, their daughter, Princess Nina, and the future king of Aldaí, Prince Zaahir.

“Holy shit,” Aida breathed out. She recognized Zaahir from his portrait her sisters would swoon over, and Beatrice and Dmitri from the Bělican currency, and who could not know Queen Rosalia? Her beautiful blond hair reached the floor, and King Durante had this face that screamed, “I own my title like a god,” all sturdy and set. But these people never made public appearances. And it wasn’t a major holiday, not that she remembered. There shouldn't have been a reason for them to be here. 

“Hey!”

They both snapped and turned around, Lorian with his hand on the hilt of his sword, Aida gripping her cane.

Two Visatorre kids were staring up at them through the crowd holding each other’s hands. One boy and one girl, the boy a bit older, the girl a bit taller. The girl had a small basket of picked dandelions under her arm while the boy had a large bandage over his cheek. They both stared at them like wonders of the world.

“Aida, we need to go. Now,” Lorian pressed. His voice was shaking with his grip tearing at her dress. He kept looking between her and the two heirs up ahead.

“Aren’t you the one from Mama’s picture?” the little girl asked.

“No, we aren’t,” Lorian said halfheartedly, then to Aida, “Aida, we need to  _ go _ .  _ Now _ .”

“No, at our house,” the boy reiterated. “We have pictures of you all around the living room.”

“I-I don't know what you’re talking about. Go off and find your Mama.” Lorian backed up and Aida went with him.

She’d never seen him so off-kilter before. She thought him as a docile, obedient servant to the crown, not a person with such a wealth of emotional range.

As he stuttered on an excuse, Lorian walked backwards into a woman carrying a basket of pastries.

“Oh my!” She gasped and almost took a header on the cobblestone, but Lorian caught her without a misstep.

The little children ran over to her side. 

“My earnest apologies, Miss,” Lorian started. “I wasn’t looking where I was—”

He caught one glance at the woman and dropped his hands. She was a plump, older woman with greying brown hair and a soft face. She had on a knitted cloak that she wore over her shoulders and an emblem of a lion on her breast.

When she fixed her glasses and got a good look at Lorian, she lowered her basket until it dropped and the pastries scattered across the cobblestone. The kids bent down and helped pick them up, their eyes never leaving Lorian’s handsome face.

The woman slowly covered her mouth with one wrinkled hand. “Lucia,” she gasped in a whisper. “Lucia, my love, is that  _ you _ ?”

Lorian kept staring at her, too stunned by their meeting to talk, too terrified by this older woman who thought who knew him.

_ Lucia _ . Aida had heard that name a hundred times before. She thought it hadn’t mattered as she didn’t associate herself with the current reign. Before Lucia’s disappearance, the public rarely saw them to get a good look at their facial features, but after they lost her, her picture was everything: the tall beauty of golden curls and fair skin, the one who kept silent to the public beside her beautiful twin sister.

What the public didn’t know was that both of their royal heirs had come back to them today, though the infamous Lucia was now a strapping, quarrelsome officer who went by Lorian Ashwell.

“Oh, fuck,” Aida said, her realization coming to her one month late.


	13. Missus Sharma's Cottage

No matter how far she strayed from her past, Lorian could not separate herself from Missus Sharma.

She’d tried with her sister, who was thirty meters away on horseback who would’ve instantly recognized her because they essentially had the same face. Zaahir, he could’ve forgotten Lorian, as they’d only met a handful of times and, while he’d agreed to the marriage, seemed uninterested in her overall.

Her parents, they were complicated. Like Carmine, she used to like the adults in her life. Then things changed. Her docile mother now looked weak, her passionate father had become vengeful. And Carmine had become…

Different.

But Lorian couldn’t detach herself from Missus Sharma. She smelled like home, like sweet pastries and fresh milk. It looked like she’d aged ten years when it’d only been a season. Her soft hair held traces of white streaks in it like clouds whisking through a sunset sky, and her hands, cupping hers now, felt colder and more cracked than usual.

Every memory Lorian should’ve had with her mother and father, she had of Missus Sharma. Her bathtub lullabies, her gentle embraces when they were alone. She’d sneak Lorian her homemade desserts and laugh at her terrible jokes. While she could never forget her mother’s and father’s care, she hadn’t fallen asleep without thinking about loyal nursemaid.

Missus Sharma pulled back and held Lorian’s face in her hands. “Oh, _mi dolcezza_. My baby.”

Lorian licked her lips at the pet name. “I know,” she said, not knowing which emotion to feel. “I’m here.”

“But why? What happened? Where did you go? Are you safe? I saw the papers in the square. What’ve you done?”

Shame Lorian didn’t know she still had hit her in the stomach. She hadn’t told anyone that she’d run away. She didn’t think Beatrice knew, though she found out most things before Lorian even thought of them. She’d wished she could’ve told Missus Sharma, but she couldn’t do that to her. If her father had known Missus Sharma knew about her escape plan, she would’ve been punished for withholding information from the crown. She didn’t think she’d have to face this disappointment so soon.

“I apologize,” Lorian said, “but we can’t stay here. Mother and Father are here. They can’t see me like this.”

“Oh. Yes.” Missus Sharma looked past the heads of the crowd to Beatrice, blinking rapidly. “Do you have a place to go, a place to hide?”

Lorian shook her head.

“And your friend?”

She turned to Aida, who had a puzzled, slightly irritated look on her face. Yet another lie she’d chastise Lorian for. They’d never end. Come next summer, she’d be sure to despise Lorian.

“Her name’s Aida,” Lorian explained. “Missus Sharma, do you live close?”

“I do. Dear, are you okay to walk?”

She addressed it to Aida, who was now leaning on her cane with both hands. She straightened and nodded once.

“But we didn’t get everything on the shopping list,” the little boy said. He, like the little girl beside him, we’re Visatorre, their marks almost proudly displayed on their wide foreheads.

“Hush, Onti,” Missus Sharma said. “Take Chrissie’s hand and be soft and quiet.”

Keeping close to Missus Sharma, Lorian, Aida, and the two little ones followed her through the crowds and down a narrow alleyway leading east. Lorian didn’t dare breathe until the crowds dwindled. The cheers from whatever Lorian’s family was doing faded behind the brick buildings.

“Your parents were introducing Bea and Prince Zaahir to the public,” Missus Sharma explained. “I’ve heard that your father asked for them personally to come on a special matter. Apparently, there’re two Visatorre who can jump in a special way. I don’t know too much about it, I was out getting groceries. Such a maelstrom of news. Lucia, dear, how have you managed to keep hidden for so long? With all these officers about, I was sure they were to find you.”

They passed a hidden cafe with outdoor seating. A few people were dining out. Two officers lurked in the alley.

Lorian ducked down her head and continued on before speaking. “It’s not safe here,” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” Missus Sharma said, downcast. “Of course, yes.”

Lorian’s guilt ate at her with every step they took. From Missus Sharma’s bad back to the little ones to Aida’s legs, they had to walk at a snail’s pace, making her fill deeply with regret and almost shame. Shame for running away, for lying, for endangering Aida and hurting Missus Sharma’s feelings all at once. She’d hoped to have more time to sort this out, but reality had crashed down around her and she was left to pick up the pieces she’d broken.

She only wished Aida would’ve said something. Anything. No questions, no utterance. Somehow, that hurt the worst, knowing how confused and distrustful she must’ve felt yet not being able to speak openly about it.

Missus Sharma’s wealth from the crown showed in her house: a three-story tall cottage with a large yard surrounded by a stone wall that looked to be from the Classical Era. The brick was overtaken by vines and a giant lemon tree that grew behind the house like its shadow. The delicate flowers Lorian often associated with her nursemaid bloomed around the cottage, spotting it with natural color and warmth.

“Here we are,” Missus Sharma said, lifting up her heavy dress. “Please do mind the mess, your Highness. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known I’d be having company.”

“It’s quite alright,” Lorian said. The “mess” came from the front lawn. When she unlocked the gate to her carriage driveway, hula hoops and play swords were scattered across the lawn. Both Onti and Chrissie looked away like they weren’t to blame.

As they all travelled towards the house, Aida stood back by the iron gates, like a phantom unable to pass a certain entry point.

“It’s okay.” Lorian reached out to her. “You can trust her. She was my nursemaid from before. She’s kind.”

One of Aida’s eyebrows arched, questioning her.

“Please. If you can’t trust me, I understand, but trust _her_. She’s a good person who won’t hurt us.”

Aida pressed her lips together in a tight line, unconvinced yet still challenging her to prove her wrong.

To test her, Lorian kept her hand out, pleading with her eyes.

Aida shifted her cane from one hand to the other. Then she said, “Your name.”

Lorian only nodded.

“Which is it?” she clarified. “Which do you prefer? Lucia or Lorian?”

“Oh.” She dropped her hand. She never expected that foul name to leave Aida’s lips. It didn’t sound right. “Lorian.”

“As a girl? Or a boy?” She looked away. “Or something else?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “but not Lucia. That’s not me anymore.” She bowed. “I’m sorry, but I have no more secrets to hide from you. That was my last, worst, most protected secret, and now I have nothing left to hide from you. I’m stupid and impulsive and don’t think my actions through, but all I want to do now is prove that I’m trying to be better, and stronger. I want to be a better person, and that starts with leaving that life behind. I’m sorry I ruined your trust, and I’m sorry my actions have led us here. It was unfair to you, and for that”—she bowed—“I deeply apologize.”

Aida kept staring at her. And staring. And Lorian was realizing how much power this one girl had over her. Everything she thought about her dictated her worth. She had been a princess meant to rule in the most powerful ally Roma had, and this girl held more authority over her with a simple stare.

“Okay.” She handed her horse’s reins to Lorian, then walked over the grass to meet with Missus Sharma, who was patiently waiting for them on the porch with her children.

Lorian watched her leave, everything unsaid building in her heart with how much she wanted to hug her and thank her and tell her how extraordinary she was for accepting a bastard like her. She tied up the horses alongside Missus Sharma’s, a shy smile barely able to push through her trembling lips.

Missus Sharma’s cottage had just as much clutter on the inside as it did on the outside. Vegetables lay abandoned in iron pots on the counter. More toys, scattered, stuffed between the couches and underneath rugs. A few candles had been lit in the kitchen area, but a generous amount of light came in from the front windows, which held potted plants of basil and herbs, pie tins, and a baker’s dozen of muffins set out to cool.

A woman was sitting in a well-used sofa chair, reading an even more well-used book. When she went to greet Missus Sharma and saw Lorian instead, she gasped. “My _word_ , would you look at that.”

“Iris, darling, put the tea kettle back on the stove for me,” Missus Sharma said. She shuffled around them, touching Aida’s shoulders and making her flinch. “Aida, Lucia, go sit in the living room. Chrissie, put away your treats in the proper cabinets, Onti, make sure you put away your shoes.”

“I always do,” he whined, and launched his two boots towards the front door.

“Please don’t run about for our sakes,” Lorian said, worrying what Aida would think about the treatment.

“Oh, Lucia, sit, please. You poor thing.” She took Lorian’s officer jacket and began folding it. “I have so many questions for you, Lucia. I’m so confused.”

“She doesn’t go by Lucia anymore.”

They pulled back.

“The name’s Lorian now,” Aida said. “Not that other name.”

Lorian wet her lips again, more unease spreading through her.

Missus Sharma inhaled, a hand to her breast, then exhaled slowly with a pained expression on her face. “Oh. Yes, I…Forgive me. Yes, I do remember you mentioning something like that a few weeks before you left. My apologies, Your Highness.”

“And it’s not Your Highness anymore,” Aida continued. “It’s just Lorian.”

“Oh…” Less enthused with that answer, Missus Sharma went into the kitchen and helped bring out refreshments.

With formalities out of the way and out the window, Aida flopped down next to Lorian with a groan.

“Are you alright?” Lorian asked.

“Yeah. Sore, but I’ll manage.”

“That’s good. I mean, better. I mean…” She gulped. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for understanding.”

“Oh, we’ll talk about that later, don’t you worry,” she said, but Lorian didn’t hear any malice left in her voice. She wondered if it was from a change of heart or Aida’s sickness catching up to her. Even though she said she was fine, Lorian saw the tiredness in her multi-colored eyes, the sway of her head indicating that she needed more sleep. It looked infected, that eye.

Iris came back with a plate of tea and some crackers she’d expertly laid out in a half-circle. “Here you are, baby. My, if I thought I’d be hosting guests, especially _you_ , I would’ve dolled myself up.”

She looked beautiful in Lorian’s eyes. She was Aldaían, with dark skin, wrinkled eyes, and her coil hair pulled up with a headscarf seen often in Aldaí. Lorian hadn’t recalled Missus Sharma talking about any relatives from Aldaí. She’d thought she lived alone.

Missus Sharma came in with Chrissie and Onti on her heels. They all sat together on one side of the living room with Iris in her chair and the little ones by Missus Sharma’s. The table between them felt like a river.

“It’s a great honor to finally meet you,” Iris said, breaking the tension. “My name is Iris, but you can call me Mi’Sharma, uh…”

“Just Lorian is fine, and this’s Aida Mirko, my…friend.”

Aida side-eyed her.

“How did I meet you in the Roman Plaza?” asked Missus Sharma. “You’ve been gone nearly two months. Where were you?”

“I was with her,” Lorian said, and after taking a cup of tea, she explained her summer away from home.

The children soon grew bored and took to the floor to play with crayons and hidden toys under the rug, but Missus Sharma and Mi’Sharma were as engaged as if they were hearing a fairytale for the first time. Lorian could see how someone could be enrapt by her story, but she didn’t feel hopeful about her story having a happy ending. From the moment she escaped her wedding, all she felt from thereon after was nothing but dread. Every day she feared Carmine coming for her. And he had, and she’d just barely escaped only for her name and face to be back in the public eye for them to judge.

When she finished, Missus Sharma began fanning herself. “Goodness gracious.”

“I was just about to say,” added Mi’Sharma.

“I’m deeply sorry for all the heartache I must’ve caused,” Lorian said. “How are my mother and father?”

“I don’t know personally, Your—” She paused. “The day after you ran away, I was fired from my position under the crown.”

Lorian sat up. “They _fired_ you? How could they? You were with my mother before Bea and I were born, they couldn’t—”

“Unfortunately, with Beatrice now living in Bělico and you leaving us, they had no choice. I was ready to leave as soon as your wedding day was coming up, I just thought it’d be under better circumstances.”

“She worked for them for nearly twenty-five years,” Mi’Sharma grumbled. “I wanted to walk right up those palace steps and give them a piece of my mind, I did.”

“I had no place there without Lucia and Beatrice trotting up and down the halls. They thought my time had been served. It’s no problem, though. Mi’Sharma here tends to the animals out back and sells goat milk to get us by, and I’ve saved most of my earnings from my time as your nursemaid, so we’ll be able to get by peacefully.”

That guilt returned and slapped Lorian good upside the head. She couldn’t imagine the Roman Palace without Missus Sharma doing the laundry, baking pastries, making sure Lorian was cared for the way a mother would.

“And so,” Missus Sharma said, “Carmine—excuse me, the Constable—is now looking for you, because of this woman and her partner, and how they’re…you?”

“It sounds very nonsensical, I’m aware, but both of us have witnessed it. She—Future Aida—she jumps about like a rabbit through time, able to carry herself without faltering or injuring herself, clothes and all. She said we had a mighty task to undertake in our near future, one that will shape the lives of both Visatorre and non-Visatorre alike. But now that we’re here, I feel more lost than I was two months ago.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like.”

“But—”

“No buts about it,” she interrupted. “I lost you once, and I’ve lost Beatrice to that awful man from Bělico. I won’t lose you again.”

Lorian’s jaw strained to tell her otherwise, but what was she to do, now that she was an even more sought-after target? “Thank you,” she said.

“Of course. Onti, Chrissie, is that okay with you? These two older kids are going to stay with us for a while, okay?”

Onti pressed his Visatorre marking into the table corner. “Is it true you’re a king?”

“No, he’s a prince,” Chrissie corrected.

“I’m neither, actually,” Lorian said with a chuckle. “A pageboy, if anything.”

“Pageboys are lame!” Onti said. “My brother was a pageboy before he died and it was lame.”

“Onti, hush now,” Missus Sharma said. “Please forgive him. He does mean well.”

“Who are they, if I may ask?” Lorian asked. “Are they your children?”

“Oh, yes. I adopted them from off the streets years and years ago. And this’s Iris, my partner. We met almost thirty years ago when she was visiting from Aldaí.”

“Really?” Lorian said. “I’ve…never known. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It wasn’t good for servants to talk about their family life when not prompted, Your Highness.”

Lorian almost bent over with how much guilt she was now carrying. Had she never asked Missus Sharma about her family life? Ever? She’d assumed she lived by herself, she never once brought up her family life. How rude of her.

“But we know all about you,” Mi’Sharma said. “Cara here has told us countless stories about you and your sister since the two of you were smaller than little Onti here. You’re practically family as is, like you’re my little godchild. N-not that I’d impose such a title on you, Your Highness! Er, Lorian. Sir—Miss—” She covered her face. “Golly me, I’ve never been in the presence of royalty before. I’m not as equipped as Cara is.”

“Please, don’t think of me so highly,” Lorian said. “Most of that is in my past now. And it’s a pleasure to meet you all. Aida, this’s—”

“I know,” she said flatly.

Lorian faked a smile. “Uh, please excuse me, but would you mind if I spoke to Aida privately for a moment?”

“Of course,” Missus Sharma said. “We’ll have to make accommodations for you two. Iris, can you help me bring down some blankets?”

Instead of staying in the living room, Aida left outside towards the backyard. She closed the screen door but not the main one, leaving it ajar for Lorian to follow.

Outside was the mighty tree that craned over the roof of the house, along with a small garden, a stone walkway, and a chicken coop built against the house. Near what Lorian believed to be the washroom and laundry room was a small goat barn with a tiny pasture for them to graze in with an even smaller pond where two ducks swam.

Aida found a hammock built against the tree and one of its smaller saplings and hopped in. Her feet dangled above the grass. 

“May I?” Lorian asked.

She stared at her tiredly, then tried scooting to make room. She kept sliding into the middle.

Lorian got in next to her. Their hips touched. She pretended not to notice as much as she did.

“So,” Aida started, “escaped-princess-turned-officer-turned-criminal.”

Lorian added it up. “Throw in ‘runaway fiancée’ and you should be good.”

“ _Wow_ ,” she drawled out. “What a troublemaker you are.”

“Unfortunately. Are you sure you’re alright? You seem different.”

She blinked slowly. “I think something’s wrong with my head. When you were talking back there, and when we were walking through the streets, I don’t know, but my head seemed clouded, like I can’t concentrate like I normally can. It’s been like this ever since I saw the Colosseum for some reason.”

“I’m sure it’s just a temporary haze because of your jump. You’ll feel better after a few day’s rest.”

She didn’t look optimistic. “By the way, uh, you’re married?” she then asked, “to the prince of Aldaí?”

“Technically, he’s my fiancé.” She showed off her ringless hand. “I’d only met Zaahir a handful of times during parties and country meetings I had to pretend to be interested in. I didn’t know him at all. It’s why I left. They wanted me to be sent off to his country to bear his children. I wasn’t doing that. My country’s here, and my choice deserved to be heard.”

“Way to stick it to your father.”

“We’ve never seen eye to eye.” She smiled as a memory tickled her brain. “I got the idea from that opera, of all things. My family visited the theater quite frequently, and I grew very accustomed to their vitality. You know _En Tempore Rose_.”

“Oh, I have no idea what that is,” she said, “it’s only my favorite opera based on the book series that I clung to since I was six. Pinnacle, the Red Dragon, the Goddess Sempre and her beautiful, long, blond hair. I know that bitch like the back of my hand.”

“Have you gone to see it?”

“Not the official one, but there used to be live performances in Bělico. My sisters played two of the snowflake dancers. Visatorre aren’t allowed in the theater.”

“They aren’t?”

“You really are a royal heir, ain’t ya? We’re not allowed into a ‘professional’ setting, else we might cause ‘risk’ to the performance spectacle. It’s not a rule that’s set in stone, but most bigoted people don’t want to see a Visatorre jump in the middle of the performance and get startled.”

“Oh.” She laced her fingers in her lap.

“So,” Aida said, “how did _En Tempore Rose_ change your life?”

“Right. So, you know how the main boy—”

“Pinnacle. Pinnacle Pescatore. A fifteen-year-old emotionless bastard when the book starts but a twenty-three-year-old considerate God when the book series ends.”

“Right. So, towards the end of the opera, Pinnacle is faced with a decision: to hop on the dragon’s back and leave the island he’s been struggling to leave for months, or stay with the Goddess.”

“You know, in the book, both he and the Goddess hop on Red Dragon’s back only for the Goddess to tell Pinnacle that he’d just gained part of his humanity back and disappears, and he spends the next five books earning each piece: friendship, family, love, community, death, and sense of self. His whole journey about regaining his humanity is summed up in a two-hour opera. But yes, go on, continue.”

Lorian chuckled at her passion. “Yes, yes, I’m a fake fan, but in the opera, he wields a sword, and looked so much like a gladiator from the Classical Era.”

“Don’t even get me started with that technical inaccuracy.”

“Oh, I won’t, not now, but the way Pinnacle held himself, I always saw myself as him in that moment. I want to be something more—I wish so badly to be a knight and to slay the dragon atop the mountain—but I’m chained to the ground, unable to reach what I want. That’s why I wanted to be an officer. I wanted to be a gladiator.”

“I love the, uh, what’s her name.” Aida’s foot tapped in the air as she thought. “What on Earth’s the Goddess’ name? Why can’t I remember— _Sempre,_ ” she said suddenly. “Fuck, I’d just said that, too. Anyway, she’s always given this long, beautiful hair that the ballerina has to work with. Usually the performers keep their hair tight in buns and gel, but she’s supposed to stand out. They often keep it braided down her back.” She played with one of her braids. “I always thought that was beautiful, but it was always hard for me to braid my braids down my back, so I always do them down my front.”

“Well, they look beautiful regardless.”

Aida stuck out her tongue and stared into the grass.

“I mean it, they do.”

“And what, am I supposed to give you a compliment in return?”

“It’s not manda—”

“I like,” she said, freezing Lorian, “that you were able to run away. I’m glad you didn’t let yourself get married to someone you didn’t like.”

Lorian settled more comfortably next to her. “Thank you.”

“’Cause I know it must’ve been hard for you, and all.” She fiddled with her hands. “It’s not like your compliment, but, you know…”

Lorian smiled. She never thought she’d see Aida so nervous. It was cute.

“We should go see it,” Aida then said, “the play, when we’re not running from the law.”

“We will,” Lorian promised, and cleared her throat. “It’s a date.”

Aida lifted her leg onto the hammock. “Yeah, I’ll sit next to the Constable, you with your family. Beatrice, yeah? That sister who you probably have no qualms with.”

“Oh, absolutely none. We’re the perfect siblings.”

“And Prince Zaahir.”

“Happily married.”

“With kids.”

“Perfect,” she said, and fell back into the hammock.

She squinted through the lemon tree branches. “Uh-oh.”

“Stop ‘uh-ohing’. What is it?”

She pointed above her.

On the highest branch hung Aida’s stolen bag.


	14. Zaahir, Two Days Before

“What do they mean they can’t do it?” Zaahir asked a knight as he left the meeting room. “It must be done. Bring this to my mother for me.” From his pocket, he unfolded his proposal letter. “Let her see that with a few renovations to the neighboring land, we can lengthen the school and add the extra four rooms necessary. They’re trying to teach upwards of thirty children to a classroom. It’s not a healthy work environment.”

“Understood, my Liege. Is there anything else you wish for me to send her?”

“Yes. Tell her I won’t make our tea session this afternoon. I've made other plans.”

“Understood. Excuse me.” With a short bow, the knight left down the open loggia and disappeared behind a pillar.

Zaahir sighed as the meeting came to a close. Two hours of discussion and none of his counsil members had even budged on his proposals. While he thought the school expansion, heightened naval support in the north, and the opening of a new food pantry was beneficial to his country, the older party affiliates didn't seem to think so, and he was left looking like a fool in front of his own cabinet.

He didn’t know how else to help them. If he was to take his mother’s place in a few years, he had to be more persuasive with his people. Aldaí was the most powerful, progressive country on Earth. He was sure to keep that promise for the next century.

If he were to have any heirs. Twenty-four years old without a reasonable suitor and his people had begun doubting his dubious political future.

“My Liege.”

Zaahir looked over his shoulder. Kadar, like always, was right by his side, standing alert with his left hand on the scimitar at his waist. He and Zaahir had been coupled since Zaahir was just ten years old, since Kadar had started his knighthood, so Zaahir never had to look far for his forever companion.

Kadar’s amber eyes pierced Zaahir over the headscarf he wore to cover up his face. It was custom for knights to wear, a modesty touch that extended centuries into their culture. Their colors matched Zaahir’s long, beige tunic with gold accents.

“I know,” Zaahir said, “I know, no good fretting over what cannot be changed at the current time. Let’s be off now.”

They left down the hall. It was an aisle of gold, of bright pillars holding up the intricately carved walls of the Aldaí Citadel. Above them were portraits of Zaahir’s passed family members, his mother, and their three Gods: Circa, Tymos, and Ukrei, dancing in fields of brightly colored flowers. To his right were open arches showing off their royal gardens built by his great-great-great grandfather, and the ocean, bright blue without a cloud in the sky. The hot sunwaves danced over the calm waves.

Beyond it, though Zaahir couldn’t see it, lay Roma and all of its gifts.

“You did well in today’s meeting, My Liege,” Kadar said as they walked. “I was quite moved.”

“You always say that. Face it, I need to be better for Aldaí.”

“Your passion for a kinder world exceeds you, my Liege.”

“Yes, but those people don’t take me seriously, not without my current future set in stone. My mother wants to hold a search party to find her.”

Kadar’s eyebrows shot up. “Does she believe that Princess Lucia will return?”

Zaahir shrugged. Two months ago, he’d been left at the altar, waiting for a wife who never wanted him. He’d had a sinking suspicion that that night would go awry after she’d cursed out her own father and stormed to her room before the hors d'oeuvres arrived. Even if they were to find her, wherever she was, Zaahir couldn’t imagine that poor girl coming to Aldaí to try and weld their two worlds together.

Poor person, rather.

“You said you don’t know where she went,” Kadar continued. “She never informed you?”

“No, she only told me that she wanted to leave. That, and her…declaration.”

“Of being gender-nonconforming.”

Zaahir looked up. “What an interesting way to describe it.”

“It's what Mohona decides to live by.” Mohona was Kadar’s little sibling. “They’re only sixteen, but they knew what they wanted early in life. In all honesty, you can usually see the signs.”

“Had you been able to tell with Lucia?”

“I didn’t know her as well as you did.”

Zaahir smiled fondly at the memories. “Like I know her myself, though the few times I did meet with her, she was such a firecracker of a person. I was very interested in her.”

“Quite,” Kadar said, and eyed the wall.

Zaahir heard that dip in his low voice and grinned. He stepped closer to his guard. “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice?” he teased.

“Of course not, my Liege. I was incredibly happy for your wedding and I was disappointed to see it come to a striking end.”

“Were you now? What a relief. I was very ready to wed her and bear many children with her.”

Kadar walked a little faster ahead.

“Excuse me, Sir Kadar, wherever are you going? I wish to retire early today.”

“Of course, My Liege, whatever you wish,” he said, and the grumpiness Zaahir rarely heard in his knight made him childishly too excited.

He quickly jogged up the stairwell to his bedroom, beating Kadar by a hair. Normally, his knights would open and close his doors for him, always walking ahead to make sure the royal family was safe and guarded, but today, Zaahir wanted to surprise Kadar, and he wanted to see his face when he did it.

As Kadar reached for the golden handle, Zaahir wrapped his own hand around Kadar’s.

Kadar eyed him, those sharp eyes melting Zaahir in his slippers.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard I worked on this,” Zaahir explained as he opened the door. “It’d taken some meticulous planning to gather all the rose petals without you knowing.”

Scattered across Zaahir’s bedchamber were red flower petals plucked from the blooming trees outside. The candles he’d lit by himself amplified the sunlight that filtered through his curtains just right. It was exactly as he’d imagined, but Kadar’s stunned expression was beyond perfect.

One would’ve expected the petals led to his bed, which Zaahir was no stranger to, but he’d wanted to be frisky today. He knew these meetings would’ve stressed him out, so what better way to relieve himself than taking his loved one onto the balcony?

With little to no rain in Aldaí, he was able to have a fully cushioned fainting couch set in the center of the balcony. When he didn’t have a knight outside his door at night, he’d often sleep out here, listening to the waves crash on the cliffs outside, the locusts humming their songs to the moon.

Zaahir took advantage of Kadar’s shock and whispered in his ear. “Will you take me up on the offer?”

“Hmm…” He leaned into his lips, and Zaahir kissed the fabric shielding him from his soft, brown skin.

Licking his lips, Zaahir led Kadar outside and rested him on the couch. “This okay today?”

“What exactly are you insinuating?” he asked, one eyebrow raised the way Zaahir loved.

To show him, Zaahir straddled him and began unbuttoning his tunic, his hands slow in case Kadar wasn’t in the mood.

Kadar got comfortable beneath him. “Not often I see this side of you.”

“I wanted to treat you today. So many talks of Lucia this month, I know it troubles you.” He brought his lips to his ear. “Do know that no matter who I’m engaged to, to me, you'll always be my husband.”

Kadar, who took to roaming the curves of Zaahir’s hips, paused and looked up at him.

“I know you hate it. I do, too. If I wasn’t obligated to bear sons, I’d marry you in a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

He nodded. “ _ Amar _ .”

The roll of his tongue sent a shiver down Zaahir’s spine.  _ “My love,”  _ used only between spouses. 

Zaahir couldn’t undress his  _ amar _ quickly enough.

;;

The next morning, Zaahir awoke entangled around Kadar. They’d ended up in bed that night, but between here and the balcony, they’d ventured to the floor, the bath, up against the wall. They didn’t often have the time to indulge in one another, as Kadar had training and Zaahir’s schedule was peppered with meetings and lessons and travel. But sometimes, Zaahir was selfish. Sometimes, he fell in love with his own love.

The morning Sun invited itself in in a stream of hot light, and Zaahir tossed and turned until he found Kadar’s lips.

“Mm,” Kadar mumbled into him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,  _ amar _ .” He leaned up and planted a kiss over Kadar’s Visatorre marking. It was a faint circle Zaahir often bullseyed his kisses.

“What time is it?” Kadar asked.

“Do you have someplace to be?”

“ _ You _ do, so that means I do as well.”

Zaahir moaned and rolled onto his back. “I do not want to.”

“You have no choice.”

“Says who?”

Unable to argue with him or technically force him to do anything, Kadar gave up and flopped a tired arm over his bare chest. His stubble tasted sweet on Zaahir’s lips, and he played with his black, curly hair that was so often hidden from him. When he was like this, fully exposed without his sword or coverings, Zaahir lost his composure and wanted to ravish him.

A knock rapped on the door.

“Yes?” Zaahir called out.

“Do forgive the interruption, my Liege. It’s Hana. I have an urgent letter from the king of Roma requesting your response as soon as possible. May I come in?”

Kadar yawned and slowly hid his head underneath the covers.

Zaahir waited for him to be fully hidden before calling out, “You may.”

Hana came in in a bow and made sure to tread carefully over the petals still on the ground. Many of them had joined them in the bath and across each other’s bodies. “Apologies for the intrusion so early in the morning, my Liege, but the king requests that you answer immediately.” She looked at the lump of covers beside him and bowed shortly. “Kadar.”

Keeping with his modesty, Kadar stayed covered in the presence of someone he didn’t consider family. He did give a sleepy wave from the covers. “Hello, Hana.”

Zaahir rubbed his tired eyes as he opened the letter with Hana’s letter opener. He hadn’t spoken to the Roman King since he left his wedding-to-be. He’d asked for his forgiveness from their child’s disruptive and outrageous behavior. The only thing outrageous about the wedding was the lack of flavor in their hors d'oeuvres.

He read the letter while petting Kadar beneath the covers.

Halfway through the letter, he stopped and devoted all of his attention on the notice.

After reading it twice, he dropped the letter and said, “Hana, schedule a meeting with my mother at once.”

“Yes, my Liege,” she said, and left.

Kadar, curious, peeked his head out. “What did he say?”

Zaahir went to pick up the letter but feared the words stained black with ink and retracted his hand. “They just found a Visatorre who can control her jumps without harm.”

Kadar sat up, brows knitting his Visatorre marking, and read the letter.

In Aldaí, they had a prophecy. They had many prophecies that spanned across generations, ones that changed and were rescripted, ones that were left to time as they no longer fit the current beliefs and viewpoints. But one always remained with them.

Their Gods, with powers greater than any king or queen, were able to teleport between realms. They could skip around centuries, take you on spiritual journeys to teach you lessons depending on what vice you carried with you. The Visatorre were seen as people blessed with such powers, but because of these powers, they were weakened as a result, as no mortal was able to hold the duties carried by a god.

The prophecy foretold of a Visatorre breaking through these limitations, becoming a mortal fully blessed with the powers of a god. They said when that happened, the world would either vanish entirely or be born anew in gold.

Now, Zaahir wasn’t a terribly spiritual person, but he knew that when fate dropped hints right in your lap, you didn’t turn your back on her advice.

Zaahir turned to his  _ amar _ . “I think we need to pay Roma another visit.”


	15. Beatrice, Two Days After

Beatrice was staring out of her carriage window, chin propped up on the windowsill, utterly indifferent to the world.

She wasn't  _ feeling _ indifferent, just pretending to be. In fact, as their carriage trekked down the familiar path of tulips, she was feeling all sorts of ways. She was back in Roma, back for another meeting issued by her father with her husband and not her. She’d come to Roma once or twice a year for meetings and council discussions. Her husband, as usual, would do all the talking, so Beatrice would just smile and nod and pray that her sister wouldn’t fuck anything up.

But this was the first time she’d be arriving back home without Lucia’s presence, and she didn’t know why that made her relieved yet also want to throw herself out of the carriage and sleep in the tulips for ten years.

She didn’t even know if she should’ve been thinking of “Lucia” as “Lucia” anymore. She hadn’t denounced her name publically, doing the paperwork to change her name and gender to whatever she wanted, but she had told Beatrice weeks leading up to her wedding that she’d wanted something more.

She’d brought Beatrice into one of their spare drawing rooms. They’d been trying on dresses for the wedding and Lorian had viciously cursed out her maids and fled. Beatrice had followed her, of course. It wouldn’t have been good if their father had found her throwing a fit like that.

She’d cried into her hands, not on Beatrice’s shoulder. Not that she’d expected that—they hadn’t been as close as normal twins should’ve been—but she’d wanted to help her, or at least make her stop crying, so she’d listened to her.

“I wish to not be a Romano any longer,” Lucia had said. “I don’t want to be known as Lucia or have all these expectations laid upon me only to be wed off to a man I hardly know, and I can’t  _ stand  _ hearing them talk about how exciting this fucking wedding’s going to be. Nobody cares about how  _ I _ feel.”

Beatrice had hated herself, but she’d crossed her arms. She was used to her sister’s antics to get out of her duties, yet she knew how much this wedding had hurt her, so why had she been so obstinate in listening to her? “So, who  _ do  _ you feel like?” Beatrice had asked. “Who do you want to be?”

_ “Lorian Ashwell,” _ Beatrice mouthed in the carriage. She’d not only changed her first name, which had been their grandmother’s name, but to change her last name as well, completely disregarding the Romano line their forefathers had worked so hard to create? Beatrice had yelled at her. It wasn’t like Lorian would’ve kept her name when marrying Zaahir, but it’d been too hard for Beatrice to accept. And she’d been busy with appeasing their mother and father throughout her sibling’s tantrums.

Or distress.

Should she’ve been more supportive? Yes. Should she’ve accepted her sister at her worst? Also yes. But she wasn’t a Visatorre. She couldn’t go back in time and fix her and Lucia’s relationship. She could only do what she could now to once again try and fix her family.

“Mo’mma.”

Beatrice looked down. Her little daughter was playing underneath her yellow dress. She rested her tiny chin on her knee.

“Nina, get off the ground,” Dmitri said from across the carriage.

She and Beatrice ignored him.

“Am I going to see Lucia today?” Nina asked her mother.

“I don’t think so,” Beatrice said.

“How come? How come they haven’t found her yet?”

“Because she doesn’t want to be found, apparently.”

Dmitri stared Beatrice down, his fuzzy upper lip protruding like an upset llama. “You aren’t to meet with her, Nina.”

“She can meet with her if she wishes,” Beatrice said.

Dmitri crossed his legs. Beatrice did the same, her tired eyes glaring.

“Don’t bring me any trouble today,” Dmitri warned. “ I do  _ not  _ want to deal with either of you today.”

“Yes, let's not,” she said.

Dmitri grumbled something under his breath and stared outside the window instead of his own family. If they were even that. Beatrice knew he had courtesans he loved more than her, so she let it go and played with her daughter’s pigtails until the carriage stopped.

Two officers welcomed them at the carriage entrance. She’s missed these men, with their silly black hats and long swords. The burly Bělican guards wore thick furs for the harsh winters and always smelled worse than their horses. It was nice to see these men in their tight black pants again. She could see the outlines of their willies.

While the officers helped them with their luggage, Beatrice looked up to the six stories of her childhood home. Each window sparkled, the purple and yellow flags of Roma whipping high on the pointed towers. How she’d loved walking through the halls with her mother, and running along with Lucia. She’s gone through the same halls during Lucia’s wedding without this anxiety swelling in her stomach.

“Where are my mother and father?” Beatrice asked one of the officers.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. There was an unforeseen circumstance in the main foyer that required His Majesty’s attention. I do not know of Her Majesty’s whereabouts. If you follow us, we can direct you…”

Breezing past them, Beatrice took her daughter by the hand and walked herself into the palace.  _ They  _ knew and  _ she  _ knew she didn’t need any officer telling her what to do or where to go. She was a queen now, and the only person who could stop her now was her mother and her tears.

Her high heels echoed down the marble floors. Nothing had changed since she’d left. She still passed every dead family member in every golden frame. They looked so much grander and larger in her memories.

“Where are we going?” Nina asked. “This place is so big.”

“We’re going to see your grandmother,” Beatrice explained.

“Your Majesty.”

She turned and found Prince Zaahir walking up to meet her. He was wearing the royal robes custom to his royal family, and his knights were safely a few steps away. Unlike Roma and Bělico, Aldaían officers—called knights—were expected to accompany the royal family everywhere they went, even to the bathroom. She spotted Kadar right beside him, his personal knight and partner. He copied his Liege and bowed.

Beatrice returned their bows. “Prince Zaahir. It’s a pleasure to meet you again. And Sir Kadar, good morning.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty.” Zaahir reached for her hand and kissed it, then air-kissed both of her cheeks.

“Have you heard anything from her?” Beatrice whispered into his close ear.

“Not yet,” he whispered back, then fell back into line and cleared his throat. “And a good morning to you as well, Your Highness,” he said to Nina. “I hope the carriage ride from your ship was to your tastes.”

Nina hid half of her face in Beatrice’s dress, staring up at the man she saw as a stranger.

“She’s a little under the weather,” Beatrice explained, not wanting to go into detail about how her husband had made her cry twice on the boat ride here.

“I see. It seems we’ve come to this palace at rather inopportune moments.”

“You can say that again,” Beatrice muttered, then properly, “How do you mean?”

“I heard there was a commotion in the main foyer. I’m sure it’s nothing,” he added, though his eyes said everything but. He nodded his head an inch to the left. “Your mother is in her study.”

“Perfect,” she said, though she didn’t know if that was truly so. Her mother being in her study meant only one thing: she was in a bad bout of depression and needed help.

He offered her his hand, and the two of them walked side by side. Kadar followed behind his monarch-to-be. Nina watched them over Beatrice’s dress.

“How are you, truly?” Zaahir whispered to Beatrice.

“Wanna slit my throat and be done with this,” she said. “Dmitri’s getting on my nerves and I’m ready to murder someone.”

“I hear you. I came in last night. Your mother has been…bad, honestly. I won’t sugarcoat for you.”

“I figured. I tried writing to her, but her letters come farther and farther apart.”

“I think it’ll do right by you to see her. I’ve tried to talk with her, but she’s been taking Lucia’s disappearance hard.”

Beatrice walked a little faster to get to her mother.

Her mother had held herself up in this study room since Beatrice was small. Even before that, she must’ve had this room to herself since she married that bastard of a husband. It was full of artwork and vases, of bookshelves and quilts she’d knitted herself. She did her work here, read her, relaxed when the world expected so much of her. As a child, Beatrice would run inside and sit on her mother’s dress while she looked over documents. Sometimes her mother would braid her long hair, making it look exactly like hers.

Beatrice steeled herself as she knocked and entered the room.

Her mother was sitting on one of her fainting chairs, one hand over her eyes, the other absently playing with a braid in her hair. Once she heard company, she immediately sat up and folded down her dress, but Beatrice saw the bags under her eyes. She saw the look in her eyes that mirrored Beatrice’s.

“Oh.” She smiled sadly. “Bea.”

At the nickname, Beatrice let down her guard and jogged up to meet her mother’s embrace.

She inhaled her scent of lotions and powder, how rich and at-home she smelled and felt in Beatrice’s arms. She wasn’t as tall as her mother, but in their heels, they almost stood eye to eye like equal queens, though she could never imagine being on truly equal grounds with her mother.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” her mother whispered. “I’ve missed you so much, ever since…”

“Don’t worry,” Beatrice said, “we’ll find her.”

Her mother pulled back, sniffled once with eyes closed, then nodded with a more at-ease smile. “Of course. Have you met with your father yet?”

“No.”

“Oh, alright.” She dropped that subject. Neither of them wanted to see him if they didn’t have to. “Well, have you eaten anything? Either of you?” she said to Nina. “Are you hungry? I believe the cooks were making dinner for your arrival. I haven’t been out much, but Carmine said he needed to work on something and left a while ago.”

“Let’s see what he’s been up to. I’ve missed him.”

“He’s been doing well, a-as well as your father,” she added. “They’re both well.”

“Please, you don’t have to bring him up. Let’s wait until we’re forced into his company.”

Her mother caught herself from laughing too loudly. “Of course.”

From outside, Zaahir and his knights introduced themselves and bowed at ninety-degree angles.

“Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Zaahir said. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

“Yes. It’s good to keep going, despite the circumstances.”

“Even when the world’s going to shit,” Beatrice mumbled, and her mother smiled.

“But you aren’t going to believe it,” Zaahir said to Beatrice. “It seems like those future selves are more of a problem than we expected.”

“Future selves?” Beatrice questioned.

“Didn’t you receive a letter in the post from your father?”

“I haven’t heard from my father in months. Dimtri said he had a business arrangement with my father that needed our attention.” She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t tell me anything about what’s going on. Be the only helpful royal man here and tell me what’s going on?”

“Your father sent me a message describing an incident that happened at Durante Academy. Something about a Constable getting assaulted in a dorm room, and then he’d encountered two…They’ve been calling them ‘future selves’ of a student and an officer-in-training that’d been at the school that semester. They seem to be the older versions of these two and have been causing a ruckus around this kingdom.”

“That sounds…fantasy-like,” she said, “quite honestly. Have you met with these people?”

“ _ Halt _ !”

Kadar instantly appeared in front of Zaahir and defended him against the wall. The other knights aided in Beatrice’s, Nina’s, and the queen’s protection. A man’s voice echoed down the four-way intersection they were about to cross, sounding overly irritated and angry at whoever he was running after.

Keeping Nina back, Beatrice leaned around the corner and watched as Constable Carmello Carmine ran after a beautiful, laughing Visatorre woman in a blue dress.

The woman was skipping down the hall like she owned it. Her dress said as much, for as she ran past, Beatrice recognized the diamonds she wore as the beautiful Cyro diamonds sought after from the desert caves of Aldaí. It might’ve been more expensive than her own dress, though she’d never met this noblewoman before.

The woman caught Beatrice staring. “Oh, hey!” She whipped around as she ran, then teleported to stand in a window sill not too far off. She hiked up one leg as she admired them. “What a sight. So many royals all in one hall!”

Beatrice blinked at her. She could see her bloomers. She did not know if the girl knew that she could see her bloomers.

“Wait!” Carmine came in after her, hat skewed and face red from the chase. “Get away from them!”

“Oh, hush.” The woman stood up on the windowsill and, with an extravagant bow, disappeared into another jump.

Carmine caught his breath on the hallway corner, then saw two queens and one prince right at his nose. He choked and righted himself. “My apologies, your Majesty, your Highness, Your—” He checked down the hall, searching for the mysterious lady. “I did not mean to interrupt your, uh, stroll.”

“Are you alright?” her mother asked, reaching out to touch Carmine’s hand.

He kept his hands at his sides. “Yes, Your Majesty. It’s just that woman again.”

“Again?” Beatrice asked. “Who is she?”

“She’s a criminal with a bounty on her head for assaulting me and a handful of my officers. She’s the one who can jump freely from place to place without harm. I don’t know how she does it. All the information I have on her comes from eyewitnesses and her need to cause me grief in my own country.”

He bowed. “Please excuse me, Your Majesties, Your Highness. While it is lovely to see you again, I need to…I need—” He fixed his hat. “I need to capture this girl.”

“Don’t let us hold you up,” Beatrice said, and gestured down the hall for the chase to continue.

“Thank you.” He bowed once more, shared a concerned look with Beatrice’s mother, then took off, fixated on keeping peace in the palace.

Beatrice gave the scene a beat of silence before she lifted up her dress and ran after Carmine and the mysterious girl.

“Bea, wait.” Zaahir caught up with her, as did her mother and their entourage of guards.

“Was that the girl?” Beatrice asked. “The future self?”

“Yes,” Zaahir said. “She’s been coming and going within the palace like it’s nothing. Your father is furious with her existence. He says that she’s a threat to our civil unity, but she seems so…childish.”

Beatrice swirled her tongue in her mouth. She sounded just like Lorian.

The hallway led them into the foyer connecting the first floor to the music room. Around them were a dozen officers staring up at the foyer chandelier. The shadows and light were dancing around the portraits and people, for hanging on the curved metal, bending the candles still in place, was Carmine, jacket askew, hat mysteriously gone. He was bracing himself on the light fixture so he didn’t fall.

After flailing and ordering his men to grab a different ladder, the chandelier swung clockwise, and he noticed Beatrice, her mother, and Zaahir staring up at him.

“Your Highnesses…es.” He gave the best bow he could. His breath was shortening. “Forgive me, again, for the state I’m in.”

“Were you not just running after her?” Beatrice asked.

“That woman seems to have an agenda on placing me in very precarious situations with her ability to control her jumps. She just touches me and she whisks me away. Where is that ladder? Someone get me a ladder!” he shouted down at his officers, and six of them ran about to find said ladder.

“That woman hung you up there?” Beatrice asked, watching Carmine turn in another circle. “How did she manage such a feat?”

“She jumps behind me, then places me in these predicaments for her amusement. We must find her, and her accomplice. Her name is Aida Mirko from a small farm town in Bělico, and her accomplice was…” He thought hard on the name. “I believe the boy’s name was Lorian Ashwell. Your Majesty, Your Highness, have you heard of two such people?”

Beatrice looked up. Blinked. Looked over at Zaahir who was looking at her. He blinked.

“No, we have not,” she said for both of them, and wondered just what her sister had done to humiliate the royal family this time.

She couldn’t wait to find out.


	16. Nighttime Highs

Missus Sharma continuously told them that moving in wasn’t a big deal and that they didn’t have to worry about it.

It  _ was  _ a big deal, and Aida was very worried about it.

A family, actually caring for your wellbeing, asking if you’ve eaten enough or if they could do anything to help. A family, being kind? She'd never heard of it. She had to keep her guard up, waiting for Missus and Mi’Sharma to betray her in some way. It’d been three days and nobody had hurt or crossed her, but still, she waited, waited for someone to double-cross her.

By adding two new people and two new mouths to their home, Missus and Mi’Sharma had completely redone their home. They’d rearranged furniture, kept the fires going for longer. They didn’t have a spare bedroom for them to hog and Onti and Chrissie had a child’s bunk bed that would’ve fit neither Aida nor Lorian.

So she and Lorian, for the time being, occupied the living room near the patio doors. They had enough light and space to call their own, but Aida didn’t like the idea of someone peering in and watching her sleep. Knowing she wasn’t in the position to voice her concern, she took the time to fasten the curtains shut whenever they slept.

With permission from Missus Sharma, Aida and Lorian took the couches and pushed them together to form one bed. They didn’t know why they’d done this, but after the first night of sleeping separately, they mutually agreed on Together Couches. From this setup, she found out that she didn’t hate sleeping with someone. In fact, knowing Lorian was close to her made her sleep better.

She didn’t know why.

Missus and Mi’Sharma worked twice as hard to make sure Aida and Lorian were fed. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and those two women were making meals as if Lorian was still a royal kid. Porridge and biscuits, toast and homemade jam, fresh fruit from the nearby market and frosted pastries that made Aida’s mouth water.

And she didn’t know how, but these two women cut their own firewood. Aida had tried to cut wood back at home, but it always threw out her back and made her bad leg numb.

After three days, Lorian discovered that these grandmothers were chopping their own wood and offered to help.

“Oh, Lorian, sweetheart, don’t even think it,” Missus Sharma said. “Go back inside, dear. I’ll be done with this in a second.”

“I don’t mind.” She unbuttoned her jacket and hung it up on a nearby rake, exposing her shoulders and upper chest. “I’d love to take out some tension in my back.”

“Oh, dear, no.”

“You don’t think I can do it? You put so little faith in me, Missus Sharma!”

“Oh, it’s not that, love.” She handed her the axe. “Do be careful.”

Aida watched her. Secretly, of course, with her nose hovering above the windowsill. Without Lorian’s uniform and the corset she wore—Aida hadn’t known she wore one—she saw the curves and dips of her hips, the gestures that might’ve marked her as a princess as she split the wood in one strike. Sweat jumped off of her curly bangs as she worked.

She had a tattoo on her upper forearm. It looked like she’d done it herself, tiny stars and moons like a child’s doodles. Aida knew from her studies that the royal family wasn’t allowed to have tattoos, but it wasn’t surprising to know that Lorian had somehow inked one onto her rebellious, royal body.

Aida still couldn’t believe that she was the lost heir, and that she wasn’t dead in some ditch somewhere or kidnapped. She was so normal, so utterly normal in a way Aida favored, yet her mannerisms could’ve marked her as upper class. Her speech, the way she held herself while sitting.

Aida didn't know if she should've changed what she called her. She never flinched when Missus Sharma accidentally called her “Your Highness” or said her old name, but Lorian had asked her never to call her that. She’d honor the simple yet important request for the time being.

She kept watching, perplexed, until Missus Sharma came over to dust the window Aida was peeping through. Aida excused herself and helped Chrissie clean out the fireplace.

Despite working harder for Aida and Lorian, Missus and Mi’Sharma gave them no chores to work on. They offered, and sometimes, the two women let them work, but what sucked the most was that Aida kept forgetting what to do and where to go. She was especially having difficulty remembering Chrissie’s and Onti’s names. She didn't know why it was difficult for her to remember that Chrissie was the girl and Onti was the boy. She blamed it on both of their names ending in the same sound, but she knew that something had permanently messed up her brain. She had trouble concentrating and remembering. She kept forgetting where the living room was around the corner.

So, she kept repeating the things she struggled with over and over, relearning. She wouldn't lose her mind to her powers. She just couldn’t.

Lorian didn’t seem to mind their sleeping arrangements. She must’ve acclimated herself to moving around at a moment’s notice, whether it be for crown-related business or from her time running away. She seemed pleasantly pleased with everything now that she had a small part of her family back.

Aida sat on her back, the most comfortable position for her bad legs, smoking a spliff. Lorian, after making herself some tea, took a seat beside her. Wearing just a tank top and baggy pants with her hair down, she looked very at ease, very cozy.

“Do you smoke Nectar every night?” Lorian asked.

“It keeps me calm. How’d you smoke it and get away with it in the palace?”

“I drank it.”

“Raw?”

“It was cooked, so the smell and effect was diluted and you could have it with meals without suspicion. It was helpful that it looked like regular honey. Zaahir gave us a good supply of it.”

“The Aldaí prince,” she stated. “Your fiancé.”

“Don’t say it like that, but yes. Turns out most royalty needs to calm down every now and again with some illegal substances. Legal, in his case. It’s recreational there.” 

“Maybe you should’ve gotten married off to him just so you could get high every night.” Aida offered her her spliff.

She took it and relaxed with her.

“So,” Aida said, “can I finally ask how the king and queen are behind closed doors?”

Lorian took another inhale. “What do you think of them?”

“They’re cowards.”

She coughed in laughter. ”I still can’t believe how frank you are with them.”

“What? It’s true. They’ve been in a wreck ever since you died, or ran away, I guess. You hardly see them in public, they never give out any formal decrees. There's been no interaction between them and Bělico or Aldaí, none until our future selves came into the picture. They’re just like King Julius II. God.” She pushed back her bangs. “We need to find out why everything got so fucked. The day I travelled back, everything was so different. Visatorre and non-Visatorre were mingling with each other like friends, and their jumps were so different, like it didn’t hurt them. And  _ Eve _ .” She flew up her hand. “What a queen.”

Lorian hiked up her legs, getting even more comfortable. “I can't go back to royal life. I’ll have to marry Zaahir and be his  _ wife _ . I’ll be swiped up into the monarchy again, used as a pawn for my parents’ greed. I know it’s selfish of me.”

Aida sat up. “Just because I like Eve doesn’t mean I expect you to become a queen like her. You aren’t obligated to do anything your parents force you to do. You’re your own person, so if you want to be an officer and live with your grandma, then fine. They shouldn’t be able to stop you, even if they’re royal.”

Lorian went to argue but stopped herself. Her eyes looked different tonight. The softness of her emerald green eyes shimmered against the fireplace she’d lit a few hours prior. The glow warmed her hair like a halo around her angular face.

“What do you think,” Lorian then started, “about your jump?”

“What about it?”

“To jump so far, and with the arrival of our future selves, do you think they’re connected?”

She blinked. They probably were, and she was upset that she hadn't thought of that sooner. First she jumped a millennium back to meet Eve, the woman she’d idolized for years, then she met her future self who knew everything in advance, indicating that Aida and Lorian had something grand for the world.

She held her head. A headache began forming behind her eyes. She took a drag to calm it down.

“Are you alright?”

“No. I just think that jump really fucked me up. I thought the pain would’ve gone by now, but it hasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her headache panged. “I hate when people say that. When it’s not their fault for someone’s feelings. You didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“I believe people say it because they’re sorry for someone they like feeling anything other than happiness.”

“Well, I’m never happy, so you’re gonna have to be saying that often.”

She smiled. “Is that a challenge?”

“No, it’s a threat.”

Lorian just laughed and licked her lips.

Aida’s brain hurt in a new way. She didn’t understand what Lorian was doing. This wasn’t the Lorian she’d come to tolerate. She seemed so carefree tonight, like they hadn’t been through the weirdest week in Roman history. She was…at peace, here, with Lorian.

Aida stared up at her, neck craned over her pillow, spliff teetering out of her mouth.

“Yes?” Lorian asked.

“How come you have a tattoo?”

She touched the underside of her arm. “When did you see that?”

“Answer the question first.”

She smirked down at her. “I’d asked for one on my sixteenth birthday. When I didn’t get what I wanted, I destroyed a priceless painting of my great-grandmother and gave myself one.”

“A bit of a brat, ain’t ya?”

“A  _ bit _ ?”

She tried containing her smile. Maybe they had even more in common than she’d already thought. “What’re we gonna do now?” she asked. “Live here? Stay in hiding? I don’t want that. I want to learn more about this side of Eve and this Julia person she was so close to. I’d never read that she and the queen were that close. And she had an heir. Can you believe that? They must’ve killed it, the assholes.”

“What about our future selves? They said we had to do something to protect Visatorre history.”

“Those future selves can go jump off the Roman cliffs.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? Why do we have to listen to ourselves—or us? Fuck. Okay.” She sat up to make her point clear. “For all we know, they could be some type of trickster gods, or demons. They could be shapeshifting into us. Like, do I seem like I’m my future self?”

“I very much believe I’m my future self. Back in your dorm room, they’d called me out, saying I was Lucia. They wouldn’t have known that if they weren’t me.”

“But if they’re all-knowing gods, they would know that about you, yeah? And if they really wanted to be helpful about the future, wouldn't they just tell us what we have to do? And if Future Aida can whip people around in the present, why hasn’t she done so with us? Just plop us where we have to go to learn or accomplish whatever we have to do? Why string us along like dogs?”

“I do see your point.”

“I don’t think they’re us. Not ‘us’ us, not in this timeline. I think they’re either demons or some type of other universe version of us, bent on making us fail at something important.”

“I hope we see them again to put that to the test.”

“Put those words back into your mouth, I swear to god.”

Lorian chuckled again and, taking a long inhale from her spliff, relaxed on her part of the couch. They were wide cushions filled with wool and feathers, making them almost as good as mattresses.

But she didn’t sit beside Aida. Normally, at least. Getting comfortable underneath her blanket, Lorian sat backwards, her feet by Aida’s head, her head near Aida’s feet.

“Is this how royals sleep?” Aida asked.

“No. I thought sleeping side by side would make things…uncomfortable.”

“I guess,” she said, but she didn't know why it would be. “You know, you don’t have to treat me like a maiden. I’m not the type of girl who swooned over you at the palace.”

“Not many girls swooned over me,” Lorian said, and before Aida could comment, she added, “though I wish they did.”

Her ears piqued. “Did you now?”

“Yes. It would’ve made my father even more furious with me. At once, I neither wanted to marry a man nor intended on marrying one.”

Outside, the crickets seemed to chirp louder than when Lorian sat down. Aida pretended to keep calm, but really her mind was reeling. “So you like girls?” she asked directly.

“Of sorts,” she said. “I seem to be attracted to most people, but girls always seem to catch my attention.”

“What’s your type?”

“Short,” she said instantly, “with a strong personality to rival my own. I like passionate and strong-willed people. I never met a lot of them like that while in the Palace, so I’m very much drawn to that type of girl. Looks also play a big factor.”

Aida exhaled in relief. She almost had something to worry about. “Then, I guess if we’re being extremely and uncomfortably open with our feelings tonight, the same goes for me.”

Lorian’s couch shifted.

“I-I guess,” she added quickly. “I’ve never been into hormones or fretting over if  _ she  _ likes  _ me  _ or if  _ he  _ likes  _ me _ . It’s never been on my mind, though I suppose, if I were to ever settle for someone, it would be the same for me. I think.”

Lorian was looking at her now, arms crossed to hold up her head. She tilted her head, cheek against her knuckles. “Never?”

She met her eyes. “Never. And don’t convince me that it’ll happen one day because I spent all of my teenage years waiting for it. I tried everything. I read romance novels, I watched plays about young, beautiful people falling in young, beautiful love. I’ve even tried it out to see what I was missing.”

“How bold.”

“I know, and it never happened. Once again, Circa fucks me over for no reason at all.”

“You know, if we’re taking the whole world into account, there's more than one God.”

“I only prefer Circa.”

“Goddess of time,” she mused.

“Goddess of Visatorre,” Aida corrected. “Back in the day back when people actually devoted their lives to the Gods instead of just whispering their names under their breath, Visatorre only recognized Circa. Tympos and Ukrei were considered the non-Visatorres’ Gods and not part of the culture.”

“If that’s the case, you don't seem to favor your God.”

“I greatly dislike many of her choices for me.”

“Well.” Lorian lay on her back, arms crossed behind her head. “I favor them if it meant I ended up meeting you.”

Aida’s nervousness fluttered dormant feelings in her. “Pardon?”

“If the Gods control fate, then they helped me meet you. It’s true, you’re unlike many of the women I've met, but that’s not a bad thing. They all act like dolls, all perfect and pristine and always kissing up to me and my parents. And who could blame them? It earned them advantages to be fake. But ever since I met you back in that library, I knew you were different.”

“What, because I read? Newsflash, Your Highness, but a lot of girls like to read.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant  _ you _ , throwing your cane at the Constable. I meant  _ you _ , staying so strong despite the world constantly fucking you over. You  _ challenge  _ me, Aida, and that’s something no man or woman has ever done before.” She laughed. “Goodness, you’re so guarded. Take a flirty compliment when you get one.”

Aida gawked up at the ceiling.  _ Compliment _ ? Where had she given her a  _ compliment _ ? She’d just accused her of being odd, and she heard that enough times at home and around Durante Academy to know that was true. And she wasn’t guarded. She never held anything back and she always spoke her mind. But flirting? No, no way. When, and why? Why her?

Not that people couldn’t. Good for them for trying. She even encouraged it at times. When she’d spent most of her days without speaking to a single living soul, she sometimes pictured a person by her side. Being married to them and cooking for them. Having a child with them or finding one to have like Missus and Mi’Sharma. But she’d also pictured a cat in this scenario, though she surmised that having a person did have its charm.

She supposed.

She covered her mouth as her brain shamefully went against her will and imagined such a thing. Her, having a person like Lorian. Sleeping on one couch instead of two. Maybe the same bed when neither of them were high and they just enjoyed being near each other. Having sex.

She hated it. She wanted to stitch herself up and keep that discomfort out. She was born different, she couldn’t give Lorian all the things she wanted. Why was she doing this to her? And why was she insinuating that she wanted to pursue her? Nobody  _ pursued _ her, who would?

“Anyway,” Lorian said, rolling over. “I’m gonna turn in for the night. Goodnight.”

“…Night?” she said in a question. While she too was tired, Lorian had left her with more questions today than ever, and she believed they had much more to talk about.

But the words slipped away. Night settled in around them, and the time to question Lorian’s wording faded into the next morning.

;;

They woke up to the smell of sausages and eggs and the sound of bacon popping in a skillet. Mi’Sharma was skilled with cooking and often took over the morning and evening meals. Missus Sharma was readying the children for school, tidying their uniforms to some thirty-kid school for Visatorre. Aida knew they existed, just not in Bělico. There, most Visatorre either dropped out or didn’t enroll due to bullying or peer-pressure, and they were forced to keep working the land or find an apprenticeship for an old farm couple.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Lorian asked. She’d dressed and cleaned herself for the day. Aida was still waking up in the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, dear, sit down. Chrissie and Onti will be heading off to school in—Goodness, now! Off, you two, hurry, or you'll miss roll!”

“Wait!” Mi’Sharma swung around her skillet and divided her eggs onto two plates. Chrissie and Onti gobbled them down as politely as two hurrying children could.

Aida hid her amusement by braiding her hair. Normally, her sisters would hog up the bathroom for hours and force her to get ready in her room with her hand mirror. She’d never started the morning off warmly, with a family not yelling at each other for stupid reasons. This family, she decided, was pretty alright.

Someone knocked on the door. Lorian, who was closest to the windows, went to go answer it.

Then she froze mid-stride.

Aida exited the bathroom, brandishing her cane as a sudden weapon.

Lorian gulped. “It’s Carmine,” she said. “He found us.”


	17. Bookstore Date

Onti covered his mouth to keep from yelping, but the fear in his eyes showed that he couldn’t hold it in. When Carmine ordered that they open the door, he shrieked through his fingers and jumped right out of the kitchen, clothes thrown off of his body in shock.

Lorian would’ve stayed frozen like a deer to a huntsman’s dog if not for Aida. After announcing the arrival of Carmine’s carriage, Aida yanked her back and kept her in the shadows of the bathroom.

Powerful knocks hit the front door. “Queen’s Officer Constable Carmine present. May I speak with whomever is in charge of the household?”

Missus Sharma, who was trying to help Mi’Sharma with dishes, turned slowly to the door. “One moment, please!” she called out, then whispered to them, “Come with me.”

She led them to a cellar door etched into the floorboards. It wasn’t covered by any rugs or furniture, but without knowing it was there, it must’ve been difficult to find. Lorian hadn’t seen it, so most officers probably wouldn’t. To be safe, she quickly grabbed her rapier to defend them.

“Go down the stairs,” Missus Sharma whispered. “Hide in the boiler room. When they leave, either Mi’Sharma or myself will come get you. If you hear footsteps coming down and you don’t hear us calling for you, I need you to stay hidden. Do you understand?”

Lorian felt Aida grip her cane like a weapon behind her. While Lorian loved Missus Sharma and shared a connection with her from the palace, she knew Aida didn’t share that sentiment. To her, this place was probably as good as their secret den underneath the barn, maybe even less so.

Lorian kissed Missus Sharma’s cheeks. “Thank you.”

“In and out,” Missus Sharma promised. “I won’t keep him for long.”

“Quickly,” Mi’Sharma said, looking between them and the front door.

When they closed the cellar door and started down the stairs, Aida whispered under her breath, “We’re screwed, we’re screwed, we’re screwed.”

“It’s not an ideal situation,” Lorian said.

“Really, it’s not? We’re cornered.”

“We’ll find a way out.”

The basement was small, with bales of hay alongside animal supplies and an old chicken coop no longer in use, and the boiler room. It could’ve been a decent hiding place if they needed a moment to hide, but could Missus Sharma keep Carmine from coming down here? Would she have to fight him for a second—well, third—time?

As Lorian pondered over her possibilities, Aida was already beelining to the back door. She listened through the screen, then poked her head out the windows to scan the outside.

The sound of men’s footsteps creaked above them. A muffled voice asked someone a series of stern questions.

“Our horses are still up there,” Aida whispered.

“I know. Hopefully my horse knows not to recognize Carmine.”

“How would a horse recognize an officer?”

“Well, aside from being an accomplice to many, many of my wrongdoings, Carmine did train her as a foal.”

Aida, who was trying to unlock the door, stopped what she was doing and stared into the wall, processing that. “Wait, she’s your  _ royal _ horse? Like, bred in the palace?”

“Yes.”

“Like a totally trackable, well-known, stupid horse that Carmine would easily detect? Are you serious?”

“Hey, don’t call her stupid. You're going to apologize to her when we go back up.”

“ _ If _ she’s still there when we come back.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

Aida unlocked the door. “If you think I’m staying trapped in another basement where we can get cornered, you have another thing coming.”

A white fence encased the backyard and separated it from the front. They both knew to walk on the grass and hide in the shade of the tree. Lorian helped Aida over the hip-length fence, as she had trouble getting her legs over. They both kept looking over to the house, but only the living room and Chrissie’s and Onti’s bedroom windows overlooked the gardens. Lorian kept her eyes forwards.

Not much of a “forest” grew behind Missus Sharma’s home. The trees were sparse and held pockets of daisies and mushrooms growing around the roots. Half a minute of exploration and they came out on the other side. Stone walls and old, ancient architecture made up a wall blocking one side of the street. There were no horses or carriages or carts, but down the way were pedestrians going about their morning routines. If they were wearing any cloaks to disguise themselves, disappearing into the morning crowds would've been a sure way to keep concealed.

As Aida walked around an upturned root, she stumbled and bumped into Lorian’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Lorian said, but the butterflies in her stomach spoke louder than her lie. “You’re quite clumsy, aren’t you?”

“Well.” She wiggled her cane out in front of her, then tapped the thick heel of her shoe.

“No matter. I don’t mind.” She offered her her arm. “May I?”

“I shouldn’t. One might think we’re two lovers out on a mid-morning stroll, and we’re supposed to be wanted criminals, are we not?”

They looked over to the less crowded part of the street.

“I mean, the farther we go, the better,” Aida said, reading Lorian’s mind.

“Let’s go down here,” Lorian said, and helped her off the stone wall by taking her hand. “It should be less crowded this way.”

Down that very way, the clopping of horse hooves caught Lorian’s attention. The gait was unmistakable, but Lorian still checked regardless, as did Aida, and she saw a lone officer patrolling the busier street.

“Shit,” Aida cursed, though a devious smile was curling on her lips telling Lorian that, if they didn’t leave quick enough, she’d likely mess with him in ways they didn’t need now.

“Let’s run,” Lorian whispered, and both of them ducked down the alley.

They merged onto an open pavilion that hugged the eastern cliffside. Here, there was a small fountain with a sculpture of Circa in the center, a cobbler, and a bookstore. In the distance of the bright blue waves, you could almost see the outline of the country of Aldaí. As a child, Lorian would make up lies and say she could see the white flags of the Aldaín palace. She and her sister and mother would take trips to their private shoreline to splash and frolic without a care in the world. They hadn’t gone in some time, and now, the threat of Aldaí being so close to take her away frightened her.

With that threat gone, Aida let down her guard and strolled over to the bookstore. She went to it like she was commanded to, eyes in a soft glaze as she eyed the books on display. Many of them had gilded edges or were signed by the author themselves, others came in box sets with beautifully illustrated boxes. Aida’s eyes fell on one particular box set—the six-book box set of  _ En Tempore Rose _ . With its childish lettering and comically red dragon soaring across the side, it looked a bit juvenile, but it was in the storefront for a reason. It’d captivated readers of all ages for the past seventy-five years. The box set even boasted that each book had the author’s signature.

Aida’s eyes sparkled as she looked at the building itself, feeling up the grooves of the stone like a map.

“We shouldn’t go in,” Lorian advised. “We’re too noticeable.”

“I know that.”

“But do you want it? The box set?”

She looked down at the price tag. “No.”

“Because I have the money.”

“And I have my pride.”

Lorian remembered the first night she and Aida had spent together, all the hours she’d blessed Lorian with with the explanation of her favorite stories. “Aida, can you tell me the story of  _ Pinnacle Isle  _ again? The full story of it.”

She pressed her nose to the glass, staring into the eyes of young Pinnacle traversing around the island’s edge. “It’s a story about a boy who wakes up on an island without his memories. Upon finding the island abandoned, he spots a castle at the highest peak of the island. He thinks it a good place to rest, but he finds that a massive dragon is living in the castle that he calls Red Dragon. He hides from Red Dragon and finds two of her babies, Yellow Dragon and Blue Dragon, and with their help, he’s able to reach the top of the castle peak, where he meets the Goddess, Sempre.

“The two don’t see eye to eye at first. Pinnacle is headstrong and is quick to anger, and Sempre is kind and soft-spoken, but after trying to coerce Red Dragon into sparing their lives, they end up forming a bond that cannot be broken by saving Yellow and Blue from a dangerous fall into a cavern. When Red Dragon sees that they’ve saved her children, she allows them passage on her back off the island. But right before they leave, Goddess tells Pinnacle that he’s just gained one part of his humanity back, and she disappears from his life, leaving him in want of friendship.”

“That’s how it goes in the opera,” Lorian said, “more or less.”

“The biggest flaw about the opera is that  _ En Tempore Rose  _ is a sextet. There’re five more books that explore Pinnacle’s life and relationships. Each one unlocks a key aspect of himself in order to win back his humanity. The first book covers friendship, the second family, the third love, the fourth community, the fifth death, and the six, a sense of self, when it’s revealed Pinnacle was actually a God all this time that’d lost his purpose after almost losing Sempre, his soulmate, and was thus demoted to a human.”

Aida closed her eyes. “I always connected with Pinnacle in the first book. He was untrusting, standoffish, he factored in reason and logic with every decision he made. For Circa’s sake, he named a red dragon ‘Red Dragon’ and calls her nothing else for 1,200 pages. But as the books continued and he started learning more about himself, learning to love the Goddess and the people on the separate islands…” She bit her inner cheek. “I don’t know, but I had trouble relating to those parts. It’s like Pinnacle became a whole other person, becoming more outspoken and fun-loving. That’s why I like the first book best. He feels the most like me in that one.”

“I’d like to read it,” Lorian told her, “both the first book and the rest of the series. It sounds interesting.”

“The author’s wife died while he was writing the fourth and fifth book, and I feel like the story took a turn after that, though some people like them.” She sighed. “Lorian, do you think Eve was a good person?”

“Pardon?”

“Eve. You know. The person I love to the moon and back. Back when I saw her, she was so much…different than what I’d thought she’d be. I’d put so much of her into the way I acted and who I wanted to be, but when I met her she acted so…carefree and young. She acted like my future self. Do you think I painted her in the wrong light like I did with Pinnacle? History says she killed King Julius‘s wife. Do you think that’s true?”

Lorian thought about it before answering, giving Aida the respect of her question. She didn’t have the passion to know everything about her life like Aida had. The thought of her killing someone in Lorian’s own family hundreds of years ago did make her think ill of her. 100,000 innocent people slaughtered, all because of, what she thought was, a rash murder.

Aida scoffed at her silence. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I was just thinking it over. I know you regard her in a high light. I didn’t want to say anything to upset you.”

Aida put her back against the bookshop. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why’re you so careful with me? I don’t understand. Do you think I’d break easily?”

“On the contrary. I think you’re incredibly smart and resilient. You think over your options more than I do, you’re booksmart as well as streetsmart. That’s why I don’t want to upset you with something I say off the cuff of my sleeve.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“You want me to upset you?”

“I want you to not think I can’t handle it,” she said bluntly. “No more of this pussyfooting around, worrying about this and that. You’re—”she mouthed the word _ “royal” _ —“aren’t you? Surely, you’ve dealt with worse. You’ve escaped a marriage and a toxic living environment. You survived your father. You joined the ranks. It’s not something most people can do. So, keep that energy with me. Fight me if you don’t like my ideas. Argue with me if you think I’m wrong and encourage me in the right direction. If you don’t, then I’ll stay stuck in my own head and end up with the answers only I think are right.”

Lorian’s mouth popped open. In truth, she  _ was _ being careful with her. How many people had she pushed away due to her mouth, her actions? She didn’t want that with Aida. But how  _ could _ you be careful with someone like her? She was as sharp as her rapier. If she wanted to be pampered or taken care of, Lorian would do that later. Now, as she was still getting to know Aida, giving her what she needed was best.

Lorian crossed her arms. “Then I think you should put more faith in me, and trust me more as a friend. I’m not going to hurt you. Sometimes, I think you treat me as a pet. Don’t do that.”

“Okay, I won’t. Then tell me things clearly, otherwise I won’t understand.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And to answer your question, no, I don’t think she killed Queen Julia, because from what you’ve told me, it sounds like she liked her a great deal.”

“So we’re on the same page, then.” She pushed herself off the wall and walked towards the sea. “By the way, I don’t think ‘friends’ say what you said last night,” she muttered as she passed.

Lorian’s face flushed. How bold of Aida to bring that up. She’d barely remembered what she’d said, she’d been so nervous. All she remembered was the intent: to show the slightest hint of interest in a way Aida would like. She’d complimented her, praised her. She never made any physical move on her because of course she didn’t, but even then, had she gone too far?

She followed behind her, blushing heavily.

_ “Take a flirty compliment when you get one.” _

She might’ve not known what a flirty compliment sounded like. Lorian liked playing around with her friends with flirty comebacks. She’d have to be more direct with her.

_ “I’ve liked you for a while.” _

_ “I’d like to get to know you more than a friend.” _

_ “I love you.” _

She shivered at the last phrase. While she’d liked many people over the years, some knights, some maids, she knew she’d never been in love before. She didn’t even know if she was in love with Aida, she just knew that the dream she had about her last night left her hot and bothered until she washed.

Aida went to the merlons and looked out to sea. The tiny curls around her forehead tickled her thick brows. Lorian had to steel herself from fixing them behind her ear.

She looked down at Aida’s hand, aching to hold it. Her arms were crossed and her fingers were pressed into her forearm. She had moles all across her body, but because of her tights and her long sleeves, Lorian couldn’t see them. Even her braids covered most of her neck and cheeks.

Lorian had seen her naked twice, she knew what she looked like, and despite her inner desires, she didn’t like that. She wanted to earn her secrecy, her body. She wanted to earn her love.

Biting her lower lip, Lorian scuffled in her boots until her shoulder pressed into Aida’s. She barely reached the middle of her forearm, so Lorian leaned down so they—their faces—were closer.

Aida slowly looked over to her, eyes half-lidded not in lust but with irritation, or tiredness.

Or slight intrigue. “What’s this now?”

“You told me to be more direct with you,” she said, “so this’s me being direct.”

“Direct about what? You’re being direct about vagueness.”

Did people their age even say it openly? Could she even go on a date with Aida? Where, the beach? She wouldn’t like that. The library? She’d spend more time with the books than with Lorian.

Lorian licked her lips. “What I said last night, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to let you know…where I stood, and shot my shot with you. I told you my feelings,” she said, now shaking, blushing. “That’s all.”

Aida looked back out to the ocean, staring out towards the horizon line. “What am I meant to do with that?”

“Nothing,” she said, then, “Well, when you’re ready, you can give me an answer so I don’t eat myself away wondering how you feel about me.” She cleared her throat. “If you have any feelings for me in the first place.”

_ “Feelings,”  _ she repeated sarcastically. “Even I don’t know that. Look at me.”

She did. Had been. “What’s wrong with you?”

She threw her head at him and lifted her hand dramatically to point at her Visatorre marking.

“I see it, Aida. I see you, and that has not or will ever dissuade me.”

“You don’t know me.”

“And I’d like to.” An unknowing irritation clung to her voice. “If you don’t like me, Aida, you can say it. You don’t have to toy with me. But if you do like me, or if you want to try something with me, you can. Nothing about the way you look or think will bar me from thinking you’re beautiful.”

She blinked at that, a confused look that stalled her brain. Then she looked back up at Lorian.

Lorian clenched her jaw. What had she said? What was she doing? This was too soon. It wasn’t the right time.

“It’s not like I want to bar myself from anyone,” Aida said. “I told you, I’ve tried falling for people. I just don’t want you to—”

“You don’t want me to  _ what _ ?”

“To get  _ fucked up _ by me.” She began talking with her hands. “Look, I saw how upset you were when I jumped. I know a lot of what you’re doing right now is because of me. And truthfully, Lorian, I don’t know if I  _ can  _ fall in love. It’s like that switch is turned off in my brain, and I don’t want to betray anything we may or may not have,  _ if _ we have anything, you know? It’s confusing to put into words,” she ended in a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

The anger that was always so on the surface with Lorian fizzled away at Aida’s apology. “No. Forgive me. I don’t wish to put you in a compromised situation. We can take our time with all of this, see what you can withstand.”

“Don’t put your expectations too high.”

“I’ll be sure to be careful.” Feeling like that came off too hard, Lorian thought to her future self and what she could help inspire in Current Aida. “Here.” She held out her hand. “Back in your dorm room, our future selves were holding hands. Myself said that she can bring people to and fro while touching them. If you’re truly to become her, you can start with a simple handhold.”

“Thanks, but I’m trying everything in my power not to be like her.”

Lorian retracted her hand. She’d promised she’d work with Aida’s pace, she needed to be prepared for this type of rejection and fear.

She clenched and unclenched her empty hand. She hadn’t fallen in love, but she’d just tasted it, and now, unable to reach into it as far as she would’ve liked, it hurt her in a new way she wasn’t prepared for. It was terrible, but she’d at once been given everything she’d never asked for and denied what she wanted most. Now, with Aida, she felt afloat in uncertainty about what she wanted versus what she thought she deserved to have.

Aida owed her nothing, yet Lorian was willing to give her everything.

Aida nudged Lorian with her shoulder, and her soft, plump fingers intertwined with Lorian’s long ones. “I guess I can handle this much,” she said, her cheeks a deep pink.

Lorian’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. “I would assume so, but you did go a thousand years into the past a few days ago, so maybe things are more complicated for you.”

“Oh, just like trying to be a monarch was so complicated that you fucked off out of a window?”

She clicked her tongue. “Okay. Touché.”

“That’s right.”

“Lorian?”

Lorian’s heart lept over the edge and plunged itself into the waters below. The voice had come from behind them, a sneak attack she wasn’t prepared to meet again.

Alessio was standing behind them. He was armed with his rapier like a true officer, but it was sheathed, and his hair, which usually stuck up with the product he used, was stripped and was now cut a little shorter than it should’ve been.

“Cripes, Lorian.” Alessio checked behind him before running up to them. “Where’ve you  _ been _ ? All the officers in Roma City are looking for you, and you’re, what, having a date with this girl?”

“I have a name,” Aida said.

“I know you do, your names have been making rounds across the entire country. They’re printing posters of you, you know. Have you seen them? I’ve been trying to tear them down, but two more get put in their places.”

“Wouldn’t be a first,” Lorian muttered, then, “Is that so?”

“Don’t act like a snob, you’re in danger. They took me and Matteo and all the other boys out of the campus to scour the streets for you. You’re in serious danger. Do you have a place to stay low?”

“We do. Your horse is also taken care of, too.”

“She better be.” He looked behind him again. “Okay, you two need to leave, now. Every Constable and officer has their sights trained on finding you, or these future selves, or whatever the fuck they are. Do you know what’s going on with that?”

“We’re just as lost as you are,” Aida confessed. “Aida Mirko, by the way.”

He started, then gave a quick bow. “Alessio. Now go, before someone sees you. I can only stick my necks out for you two lovebirds so many times.”

“I’m glad you do it at all,” Lorian said, and raised his fist at him.

Alessio hesitated before crossing his wrist with Lorian’s, their bond frayed, but not torn.


	18. Baking Up a Plan

Despite everything in her brain telling her to escape and find a Plan B, Aida had become accustomed to Missus Sharma’s and their set up with their living room couches or, as Mi’Sharma put it, the “Nest.”

What was once a doily-covered home of a nicely furnished house had become a pile of blankets, old food dishes, and books, stacks and stacks of thick books. From being a part of the royal family’s workforce, Missus Sharma had amassed a collection of history texts to make her own mini collection of priceless knowledge that she’d graciously let Aida borrow.

Two days after Carmine had fully searched the home, Aida had read through the thickest texts Missus Sharma owned. Royal lineage spanning back to the end of time, ancient maps with individual house markings. She’d learned Lorian’s full name, something normally kept within the depths of the royal line out of baseless superstition of witches casting spells on a person with their full name. Aida, even though it was in her nature to, kept that knowledge to herself.

She started a new journal not about dead royals, but one that documented her own life. It felt pretentious, but she didn’t write how grandiose her adventures were becoming and how she was changing into a better person. No, she just wrote the minute details. She wrote down the street she grew up on, her mother’s family tree, the first day she remembered as an adopted child to a bullshit family. The number of freckles on Lorian’s nose, Pinnacle’s entire timeline and character growth from book one to book six. She had to reference the books at times, which frightened her—she used to know everything by heart—but she pressed on. She wouldn’t forget her favorite book series if she had all of her notes to look back on. Everything was fine.

It was easier with Eve. Her entire, half-truth life was stored in books. Aida wrote down every single paragraph that held her name in her own words and memorized how the past talked about her. She was “a newly budding royal” when she’d married then Prince Meyeso even though it’d been expected that her older sister was to marry him. She was “licentious,” “rowdy,” “surprisingly intelligent despite her natural upbringing.” This was the way older authors put in their not-so-subtle biases to Visatorre. Now, however, while she knew Eve was intelligent, she didn’t know if “rowdy” was too inaccurate.

Turning the page to the last book she had, she uncovered a new medieval artwork piece of Eve and Meyeso—wildly inaccurate to what she’d seen in the past—alongside two blond-haired royals.

King Julius II and Queen Julia.

“The one who murdered her,” she muttered under her breath, then, looking at the blond-haired woman, “and the one who liked her.”

She paid closer attention to the two women. They were standing next to one another, their husbands farther off, coupling them. Their hands were out, palms facing the viewer, but their two pinkie fingers were touching, almost as if they were meant to be holding hands, and they had on those matching blue bracelets that looked familiar.

Aida kept reading. Underneath the picture, the author made a note saying that this artwork was seen in poor taste, as it depicted both queens in “unfavorable suggestion.” It was found in the Catacombs because of this, a place where “unfavorable” beings lived, and seemed to be in mint condition.

“Whoa,” Aida breathed out. She’d known the Catacombs themselves were ancient art pieces preserved in time, but she hadn’t known people had kept  _ artwork  _ down there. Paintings, etchings made into the manmade tunnels. She flipped the page and found an assortment of statues, broken vases, and beautiful stairwells she hadn’t known existed. They weren’t in any history books she’d read.

If they had all this hidden in the Catacombs, what else was buried down there?

Aida touched where the two women connected, wondering what type of relationship they had, how they did it.

And why the fuck was it so hard for her to reciprocate the same feelings? Lorian had outright declared her feelings to her. What was she supposed to do with that information? Reject her? Accept her? You couldn’t say, “We’ll see about that,” because that obviously sounded like a refusal and it’d hurt Lorian’s feelings. She equated it to her acceptance to Durante Academy. Everyone wanted to hear a, “Yes,” nobody wanted a, “No,” and hearing a, “We’ll see,” was no doubt the worst answer one could receive.

She didn’t know how she felt about Lorian. She liked her, yes. She liked being around her and liked her thought process and how she treated her. But that was the same with Missus and Mi’Sharma and with Eve, though she hadn’t formally met the latter. At what point did appreciation for a person become a romance? In novels, it happened so quickly, and Aida didn’t know if this was too fast for her liking. She just wanted…

She wanted to meet Eve again. She felt like she could teach her a lot on this topic.

Running herself into the ground, Aida fell back into her chair. After slouching for six hours, she couldn’t take her back and leg pain, but she didn’t want to stop researching. Her mind was just somewhat broken. She lifted her bad leg and gave it a good stretch.

“Aida?”

She slammed her thigh down and flattened out her dress.

Lorian came out of the kitchen. She and the kids had been fiddling around on the second floor. Somehow, she was a natural with kids. She kept them busy while Missus and Mi’Sharma tended to the house or the animals. She played jacks and hide-and-go-seek with them without looking or acting embarrassed. Aida was impressed, as she didn’t think Lorian had much experience with children. Maybe she was just generally a good person.

“Onti and Chrissie and I are making sugar bread,” Lorian said. “They wanted to know if you’d like to join us.”

To check, Aida looked into the kitchen. Around the wooden column, the two kids had their noses up against the counter, their bags of flour and sugar ready, watching to see what Aida would say.

“ _ Huh _ ,” she drawled. “Sugar bread, huh?”

“Yes. It’s a traditional Roman dessert.”

“I’ve had it. Where do you think the sugar is grown, Aldaí?”

She expected her to laugh. She didn’t, just continued smiling down at her. “Of course. Do you like it?”

“Why don’t you ask the question you want to ask,” Aida said, “because despite those kids being cute, I don’t think they were the ones to think about inviting me to  _ make bread _ .”

“Ah.” Lorian smiled, showing off the dimples that only came out when she smiled genuinely. “Then, Miss Mirko, may I cordially and  _ personally _ invite you to our exclusive bread-making event as my admired plus one?”

“There we are. What happened to being upfront with me? You know I have a problem with that.”

“I apologize. I'm still learning when not to lie.”

“Yeah, I bet.” She nudged her in the hip, wondering when she’d become this affectionate with someone. It felt like it was mandatory with where they were in their “relationship,” but it didn’t feel that forced. “Come on, then. Bread takes hours to prove, it’s a horrible thing to wait on.”

“You do have to admit, it’s quite fun.”

“I wouldn’t know. My parents never trusted me to cook with fire. One wrong travel and the gas would be going on for hours unattended or I’d let the ingredients spoil. And you talk as if you’ve spent your days cooking for yourself.”

“Hey, I’m very well competent in cooking for myself. How do you think I made extra meals for myself when my father sent me away from the dinner table?”

“What, were you caught playing with your food?”

“More like threatening abdication and calling him a coward for not addressing important election concerns for Roman officials.”

Onti climbed up to his chair. “What does abdication mean?”

“It means she wanted to stop being addressed as a royal kid,” Aida explained, and put on one of Missus Sharma’s spare aprons. “Can’t blame her for wanting that.”

“So it’s true,” Chrissie said. “You’re a real prince—” She winced. “Prince? Princess? Mama said not to talk about it, but if you were a princess, that’d be really cool.””

“I suppose it would be,” Lorian said. “I was a princess, but I don’t know if that lifestyle is right for me. You, on the other hand, would make a remarkable princess.”

“I would?” Chrissie asked, eyes wide.

“Of course. Some girls are born to be princesses. I wasn’t meant to be like that.”

Aida watched her for any pained expression about her past, then helped her find a way out of the difficult conversation. “You can be the princess of Siina.”

“What’s Siina?” Chrissie asked.

“Oh, don’t get her started,” Lorian warned, but Aida was already ready to give a dissertation on the subject.

“Siina was a city-state in Roma almost 1,200 years ago. A city-state is a city surrounded by an entire other state. It was a place where hundreds of thousands of Visatorre lived peacefully under two Visatorre leaders, King Meyeso and Queen Eve.”

“What happened to it?” Onti asked, slowly stopping his kneading to listen to the story. “I’ve never heard of this before.”

“We don’t know for sure what happened, as it’s never taught in schools, but it’s believed that Eve and all of her people were murdered by the Roman king for murdering his queen. I don’t believe that’s true, so it’s up to us to find out what really happened to her and avenge her.”

“You’d make a great queen,” Lorian said as Chrissie listened passionately to this fairytale story. “What color dress would you wear?”

“Oh, a pink one! Like Mo’mma’s nightgown!”

“And I wanna wear a cape!” said Onti. “A red cape with lion fur at the end.”

Aida pretended that she was less interested to know what color any particular dress was when she could learn more about the person’s past, but seeing how much Chrissie was suddenly interested in this side of history, it was nice knowing she’d helped with that. She didn’t know where her love for history had sparked, but if Chrissie found it in dresses and wanting to be a princess or a queen, Aida let it be.

In all honesty, she loved dresses as much as any other little girl.

;;

Cooking was by far less work than she'd imagined. At home, she avoided the kitchen because at least one of her family members would've been in the vicinity, and at the Academy, she was given three meals a day, nothing of significant taste or finery to make her interested in cooking, or baking.

Missus Sharma had graciously given them free rein of the kitchen. The wooden table provided them with wide space to knead the dough well. The light was poor, but a warm shine of sunlight had broken through the windows, heating up the room and making everything smell earthy, cozy.

“Can we make them into shapes?” Chrissie asked. “I want mine to be moons and stars.”

“Have you ever had bread in funny little shapes?” Lorian asked as she pounded her dough into an oval. Aida worked hers alongside her.

“We can try,” Onti said. “I wanna make mine into blue birds. They’re my favorite kind of bird.”

“I wanna make mine into a palace,” Chrissie said, and each child carefully crafted their bread shapes that would most definitely not resemble either of their dreams.

“I found another illustration of Eve,” Aida mentioned to Lorian. “Those things are few and far between. It’s in the Catacombs near the Roman palace.”

“Why did they ever think to hang up art in such a place?” Lorian asked. She folded her piece of dough and transported it into a wooden bowl. Chrissie, too excited for the next step, dumped too much sugar into her bowl and began pounding it with two hands.

“I’m not afraid of it,” Aida said. “I know the history of them and not stupid enough to graffiti down there like all the guttersnipes who sneak in there. I want to find more…” She squeezed the air in front of her. “Shit.”

“ _ Hey _ !” Onti said.

“Stuff,” Aida corrected, then addressed Lorian specifically because she realized this wasn’t a conversation for a ten- and seven-year-old. “My jump gave me more information on Eve than dozens of books I’ve read on her. I feel like if I follow more in her footsteps, I’ll be able to find out this secret history the crown is keeping from us. And who knows, maybe this’s what our stupid future selves wanted us to do. It makes the most sense, don’t it?”

“You’re so passionate about this woman.”

“I’m…” She thought about it. “I am. Yeah. What, is that—?”

“It’s not weird,” Lorian said. “I just wish I had more to offer you. I feel like, because of my upbringing, I should have more secrets to uncover for you, but I was never interested in our history. I wanted to get away from it.”

“I can’t get over that you have no juicy secrets to tell me.”

“There’s honestly not a lot of secrets about the royal—”

Aida eye-rolled at her.

“—that I  _ know of, _ ” she added. “That I know of, and ones that’re not obvious to the public.”

“You’re  _ part  _ of the family, you dumbass,” she said through a smile. “Think of what we could’ve done, what we could’ve dismantled with your information. I still don’t believe you. I’ll break you. I’ll find everything out.”

“I really don’t know any. Trust me, if I did, I’d tell you. Like how I can tell you how most officers have spouses even though it’s technically forbidden, or about my mother’s interest in pastry decorating even though it’s uncouth of her to enter the kitchens.”

“It makes sense. She’s always been interested in humble lives.”

“Or about my sister’s incessant disinterest in our family matters.”

“Again, it makes sense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile in any portraits. I can only assume you were close.”

“Well, we were twins.  _ Are _ .” She set their bread in a cabinet to let it prove. “She was never one to smile or be engaging with anyone outside of the family. Or inside the family.”

“I can relate,” Aida said. “Sister’s are the worst.”

“Hey, Chrissie’s a good sister!” Onti exclaimed.

Aida disregarded them with a hand wave.

“But,” Lorian said with a finger to her chin, “before I left, I stole my fair share of inheritance money, jewels, and keys from my bank account.”

“What?” Aida asked.

“Along with my signet ring and skeleton key, I also broke out all the Lyria I kept from my bank account—”

“Forget about money. _Keys_.” She pressed Lorian up against the wall. “What keys do you have?”

Lorian smiled nervously at her. “Uh, well, it’s just…one key.”

“ _ Lorian _ ,” she said exasperatedly.

“It’s just one key because it’s a skeleton key. It's what our parents gave us to let us wander around the palace without officers. It doesn’t open all the doors in the palace, but it's—” Lorian quickly looked down at Aida’s lips, then gulped. “I-it can’t open my parent’s room or the war rooms, but the chapels, the galleries, the pace of arms, and entrances to the Colosseum and the Catacombs, they’re all able to be open.”

Aida almost screamed. “You have a key to the  _ Catacombs _ !” she said, cutting straight to the chase and slapping her bad knee. “Damn you, well played, Lorian! If I’d known that stupid key could unlock all the secrets about Eve, I would’ve stolen it days ago! Where is it?”

“Right here.” She carefully undid one button on her shirt and took out a long necklace with a horse whistle, signet ring, and skeleton key attached at the end.

Aida reached up for it. “Let’s go, then! Now! Tonight!”

“Wait a moment.” Lorian covered the key and kept it close to her chest.

“What now? Lorian, thousands of Visatorre are buried down there, and there’s secret art and probably dungeons that’ll give us more information on Eve. Come on, you want us to follow in our future selves footsteps, don’t you? What if this’s what it’s leading us to?”

“Aida.”

“Don’t ‘Aida’ me. We need to change the fates of all Visatorre, don’t we? Why not the place where it all seemed to end?” She began shaking, she was so excited. “We can do this, Lorian. We can find out the truths. Together.”

“But we can’t.” Looking over to the children eyeing them questioningly, Lorian took Aida into the living room and their Nest. She sat her down. “We can’t jump into this too soon.”

“Why not?” Aida argued. “I agree that we should plan this out—maybe wait a few nights—but we’ve been here for almost a week. We can make a plan, test it out. We can find Eve’s secrets, come on.”

“I don’t know. We shouldn’t be going out in public too often.”

“We aren’t, it’ll be dark. You know officers don’t often make rounds at dark, especially on doors they only expect royals to be using.”

“But Alessio said that officers know our faces. We can’t be reckless like we were near the—”

“Lorian,” she interrupted, “if going into the Catacombs means itching this fucking curious tick in my brain, I want it itched. Please. For me.”

Lorian pursed her lips, reading Aida’s unblinking, determined stare.

Aida tapped out her nerves. So many ideas and plans were forming, all she needed was Lorian’s agreement. She couldn’t do what she was planning to do alone, and she didn’t know why, but she felt like she needed Lorian by her side. It just made sense that way.

Her eyes went wide. “I’ll kiss you.”

Lorian let that sit for a beat. “Pardon me?”

“If you come to the Catacombs with me, I’ll kiss you. I’ll take your concerns to heart and plan this out thoroughly, but if you come with me, I’ll kiss you. On the lips,” she added, the juicy cherry on top. “Once we get there, of course.”

Lorian pressed her lips in a hesitant line, then looked off to the side, seriously considering her new offer.

Aida leaned into her, as if to get closer to her working brain. Intimacy was something most people craved, and while she wasn’t one to touch others right away, she took Lorian’s warm, sweaty hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Please,” she begged, “for me.”

Lorian stared down at her. Her fingers carefully cupped the fullness of Aida’s cheek like she couldn’t help herself and fondled the baby hairs around her ear. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll go with you. We’ll find the answers to your questions.” She pulled out her key and gave it to her. “Together.”

“Together,” she agreed, and got to work on the mission to the Catacombs.


	19. A Decision Between Royals

Beatrice’s time in Roma had been, as she knew it would be, dull. Incredibly boorish, and sluggish, and utterly, utterly dull.

It wasn’t as if she was unprepared for this. In Bělico, her husband took control of most of the country and her life. This included all of the duties, the meetings. Every strategic conference he had with his men in furs was for him, “not for women,” and she’d given up arguing with him about it. She'd tried it for the first year of their marriage, and after broken mirrors and a threat to push him down the main stairwell, she’d found it pointless and left him be.

During such conferences, her husband, her parents, and the royal sect from Aldaí argued and bickered about what to do about her sibling and her new girlfriend, and she stayed perfectly silent throughout it all.

“I believe we should bring more of Constable Carmine’s officers into the city,” one advisor argued. “We should elongate their shifts long into the night and double the number of men in the morning.”

Beatrice breathed harshly through her nose. As soon as he said, “double,” the room erupted in an unwelcome barrage of disagreement. They were in a circular conference room with a large chandelier above them lit with about a million candles. They’d melted down over the course of this five-hour yelling contest.

Beatrice had broken the rules and invited Nina to the meeting. She was currently underneath the table, sleeping in the folds of her yellow dress and using Beatrice’s foot as a pillow. Beatrice’s leg had gone numb an hour ago.

“We should add more of an incentive for the commonwealth to find these two hooligans,” said Dmitri. “I can hire a platoon of some of my most famous spies to look into this matter and be done with it.”

“We shouldn’t force any commonwealth to the work of its sovereign,” Zaahir said, trying to raise his voice to match that of Dimitri. Poor lad had big shoes to fill in the wake of his mother. She was ill, getting on in her years, and couldn’t make the journey here. Beatrice knew what it felt like to be the youngest in a room of sweaty, old men. She couldn’t imagine trying to be an equal at their table. “We should find them swiftly with the condensed version of His Majesty’s officer force and sweep the countryside for them. They couldn’t have gone far, and we can only assume they’re still here in the country.”

Like she suspected, her father’s advisors dismissed him by not even addressing his concerns. He was a prince, not a king.

“We should work on solving this issue as soon as possible, so it’ll do well by us to increase officers around the main districts of Roma City.”

“It’s been days since this woman has humiliated our officers,” said one advisor, and turned to Carmine, who’s been keeping upright with a hand on his fourth coffee that evening. She saw the tiredness in his eyes and the way he was trying not to slump in his chair. “Carmine has been run ragged trying to deal with this woman.”

“She seems attached to him,” another advisor said. “Could it be that the arrival has something to do with him?”

“She hasn’t given me anything to suspect that her intentions rely solely on me,” Carmine said, reading over his papers. “From what we’ve gathered, it seems that she becomes lethargic the more times she jumps in succession. She doesn't seem to have a goal in mind when it comes to these pranks.”

“Calling them pranks is a little demeaning to the real threat she pulls for us. Don’t you think?”

“And what threat is that?” asked Zaahir, rather boldly. “Fact is, she hasn’t done anything blatantly wrong, has she?”

“Both of these people have attacked our leading Constable, who is considered Her Majesty’s right-hand man,” one advisor said. “It’s a very serious offense punishable by death.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. She didn’t know how her parents didn’t realize that these drawings of “Lorian” were really their own child, just wearing different clothes with her hair cut. Even she knew that.

“Regardless of that,” Carmine said. “Not to put aside this offense, which we are still looking into, I believe we still have the case of Lucia’s disappearance to discuss.”

The room’s atmosphere shifted.

“I know we have many challenging decisions to put our full focuses into at this time, but I know that many of us in the room as well as the commonwealth are concerned about Lucia’s wellbeing and where she can be. If we can somehow find her, that might bring the morale we need in order to push our workforce into finding out the reasons behind this introduction into future Visatorres.”

The advisors, instead of arguing immediately, mumbled to one another, covering their mouths and thinking over the possibility of putting a person’s life ahead of the persecution of the innocent.

Then the king sat up and placed his fists on the table.

The room went deadly silent. Carmine dropped his cup of coffee. Zaahir pressed his back into his seat. Beatrice, who was thinking about dropping her cheek into her hand, sat up to act respectful.

Her father had aged ten years since she’d last seen him at Lorian’s wedding. His dark hair had gone more grey, and he hadn’t smiled, even when Beatrice had come back. During the wedding, while tormented about Lorian’s behavior—she’d locked herself up in her room, even when Zaahir had been introduced to the ballroom—he seemed at least content for the union and for Lorian’s future happiness.

“ _ Happiness _ ,” as if Lorian hadn’t been bawling her eyes out days,  _ weeks  _ prior, begging desperately for their father to change his mind. She’d witnessed her several outbursts from threats of abdication to even threats against her own life. Their mother was supportive, but their father was the king.

Beatrice had known. Despite everything her sister had said, Beatrice had always known Lorian better than anyone else. She’d just wished Lorian had known this before she escaped. It was her biggest regret in her life.

“What about Queen Beatrice?” her father said.

She looked up to her mother, who was silent against the word of her husband.

“What is your stance on the matter?” he asked her. “What do you think we should do? Should we put more efforts into stopping this Visatorre, or should we focus on finding Lucia?”

Zaahir and his advisors looked up in alarm, his knights casting confused looks at each other. Even Dmitri seemed to want to say something, but he was on King Durante’s land. He couldn’t be too outspoken.

Beatrice sat back. “Why would you ever want to hear my opinion on the matter?”

Her answer set him aback, as well as her mother and the rest of the room. Her mother gasped. Her father leaned in with an angry, quizzical look. She’d said the wrong thing.

Good. Finally put some spice into this godforsaken stalemate of an argument they had going.

Dmitri, who was slouching next to her, sprung up. “Y-Your Majesties. I apologize for my wife’s  _ disagreeable _ attitude she’s had for the past few days. She’s tired, you see, from the long journey here.”

“She isn’t tired,” her father said dismissively, then, “This meeting is adjourned. Tomorrow morning, I will come up with new and revised plans for these two future Visatorre. We will put them in their place, once in for all. That is all.”

At that, the forty or so advisors shuffled their papers, thanked or ignored the advisors to their lefts and rights, and got up to leave. Her father's top advisors and leaguemen talked with him before they left, but from that deep-set scowl, he wasn’t in the mood to talk, and they soon caught on and left him to his thoughts.

Beatrice slowly eased her daughter into her arms as she went to carry her to bed. One of her guards offered his assistance. The exchange barely awoke Nina as she drooled onto the man’s fur.

Dmitri caught up with her and almost went for her arm. “What were you  _ thinking _ ?” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what that kind of remark made on me?”

“I answered honestly, and honestly, I don't wish to continue this conversation in the presence of so many ears.” She eyed a small man who was pretending not to overhear. He ducked his head out of the room as if he hadn’t caught a sniff of a royal marital fallout.

“You can't keep acting like this in front of so many people,” Dmitri said. “It’s unbecoming, unladylike, and damn well unprofessional. Just because they’re your parents doesn’t mean you can continue to act like a child.”

Beatrice blew out her cheeks.  _ Nina _ was a child, she who had a bedtime and loved sweets more than vegetables. Beatrice was only twenty-three and yet she was both barred from speaking out of turn while also expecting to cater to everyone’s expectations of her. She’d tried this set-up back when she was younger, forgetting herself to become more like her docile mother, but after having Nina and living through a mess of a marriage with Dimitri, she hardly cared about how people treated her nowadays, so long as she got to do what she wanted.

Before he scolded her any more, Carmine and her mother broke away from her father’s eyes and had rounded around the table to address her. Whenever her father was in one of his moods, Carmine often played the surrogate of her father. It’d been years since they acted this way, but when she and Lorian were younger, he’d take them on trips, go flower-picking with them, teach them new songs during their music lessons and sneak them desserts well after their bedtime. He was older now and it was difficult to see where that caring man went, but right now, she saw a glimpse of what used to be.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Carmine said with a bow. “I apologize for disrupting you tonight.”

“Why did you give such a careless answer?” her mother asked. “Is something the matter?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t care, she just knew after countless attempts to be heard that giving an honest answer wouldn't be worth the hassle of the men. She assumed this was cowardly, and it probably was. “I apologize. I’m quite tired from my journey here.”

Her mother’s worried frown grew creases on her forehead. She never had those before. “Darling, if anything’s bothering you…”

Just then, the king walked by, swarmed by men writing down notes on scrolls.

Her mother looked away, hands folded in front. Carmine bit his cheek before averting his gaze in a bow.

Beatrice and her father exchanged a wordless look to one another, saying both nothing and everything. Their eyes weren’t even the same; his dark eyes hadn’t tainted her emerald green. She inherited them from her mother, as well as her compassion and humanity.

The king scoffed and turned away, and Beatrice almost smiled at her triumph. She’d won.

Her mother looked back up, almost ashamed for speaking with her own daughter. “If there's anything troubling you, please, talk to me in my study. It’s difficult to bring up a one-on-one conversation right now with all that’s going on, but in there, we can talk more.”

_ “In her study.”  _ Code for, “Away from your father, the only place we can speak openly without fear of disturbing his Royal Majesty.”

Figuring she was being genuine, Beatrice nodded. “Thank you.”

The corner of her mouth raised, though her eyes still seemed pained. “Thank you. You’re well otherwise, aren’t you? I’m sorry we haven’t spoken much this past week. It’s been such a relief to see you again.”

“I’ve been as well as ever,” she said. “How have you been?”

She just smiled and tilted her head a little to the side. Her long, beautiful hair waterfalled off of her shoulders, almost reaching her knees. “Well as ever,” she repeated.

“That’s good. And you, Constable Carmine?”

He smirked at the use of the formal phrasing. “I’m quite well, Your Majesty, thank you for asking.”

_ “You don’t seem it,” _ Beatrice wanted to say, but both adults seemed a thousand kilometers away, overthinking more important issues Carmine had tried to raise during the conference.

“Your Majesty,” he said to her mother, “would you like me to escort you to your room?”

“Yes, please,” she said urgently. “I've been beginning to feel rather faint.”

“Then let's not dally. Your Majesty.” He gave Beatrice another bow, which Beatrice replicated, before taking off with her mother down the hall.

Beatrice watched them go, wondering if she’d take her mother up on her offer, when she saw her father down the opposite hall, staring at her. He mouthed two words: _ “Come here.” _

She wouldn’t have gone if not for her husband. If she insulted him, it would reflect badly on the country of Bělico. And Roma, technically, as she still shared their blood. And it would be a mockery to the king himself, and she knew he wouldn't take kindly to that. She feared what would happen to Nina if she continued this bout of betrayal.

So, lifting up her dress, she obeyed and went to her father.

;;

Later that evening, Beatrice, exhausted, fled to her balcony and locked herself on the little crescent of gated space to starwatch.

A strip of trees separated her from the royal gates, but still, five stories high, she saw enough. She saw the hills rising and dipping with the curve of the Earth, carrying with them hundreds of houses and municipality buildings. She saw the Colosseum, so close that she could see the individual fires flicker between passing guards. She saw the ancient pillars holding up nothing. She saw everything she could've been ruling.

She tried to flex her fingers, but they still hurt. Ten slashes, five on each open hand. The skin had sliced open upon the second strike, and one missed strike had opened her ring fingers to painful slashes that hurt whenever she gripped anything. The nurse on call had cleaned and bandaged them up to prevent any infection, and she was told to keep her gloves on for the remainder of her stay. Nobody would think twice about a Queen wearing gloves, but those who knew Roman customs would decipher that she’d been punished for acting out of turn.

Carmine had knocked on her door earlier that night and asked if everything was alright.

“Everything is as it should,” she’d said, and Carmine immediately looked at her gloved hands. If he’d appeared tired that morning, he looked positively dead that evening.

She hid her hands. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Do you need any medicine, or new bandages?”

Too common this punishment was given to Lorian for her misbehavior. Beatrice never often got it, unless she’d been with Lorian the moment a vase shattered or rug stained. Still, Carmine was as familiar with the hidden hands as she was, a secret only the royal family knew about.

“No,” Beatrice said. “Thank you, but I’m well prepared.”

Even though she’d said that to help ease his worries, that sentence struck a cord in his heart. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you wish for me to leave it be?”

“Yes,” she said honestly, and away he went.

She would sleep out here, wouldn’t she, on the balcony, truly alone? Her husband was sleeping in a separate room as requested, and Nina had finally fallen asleep in Beatrice’s bed. Unlike Beatrice, Nina had grown up in Bělico. Now, Beatrice was reminded of how uncomfortable the Roman beds were, with their fluffy beds of feathers and not fur. It was cold out here, but nothing to keep her from spending the night here.

Someone knocked on her door again. She grated her chin and cheek against the railing. “Yeah?” she called out.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” her guard behind the door said. “Prince Zaahir Lahlou of Aldaí is here. He wishes to speak with you. Do you wish for him to enter?”

She hid her hands behind her back. “He may.”

Zaahir came in cautiously like he wasn’t supposed to step foot in this room. And he wasn’t. If either of their fathers caught them, they’d receive more than a few slashes to their palms. How shameful, how sensational for two royal heirs to be found together at night. No, their officers knew, as did Zaahir’s knights, or knight. Tonight, Kadar was, as always, right by his Prince’s side. Instead of waiting outside like Beatrice’s stationed officer, he came in with his royal monarch.

The officer made a face and checked that Beatrice was okay with this.

She assured him with a raised hand, and he shut the door.

She met with her guests at the balcony door, slouching against the golden finish. “Welcome, Your Royal Highness.”

Zaahir smirked only for a beat, then looked down. “How're your hands?”

She took off her gloves with her teeth. She wasn’t able to stretch her fingers due to the pain, but she tried, squinting through it.

Kadar looked away. Zaahir grimaced. “I apologize. Here.” He pulled out a glass vial from one of his tunic’s inner pockets. Its label read the Aldaían word for “Nectar.” “I’m sorry it took so long to get it to you. I had a lengthy conversation with your father tonight. He had me positively fuming.”

“ _ Just _ fuming?” She popped the cork and downed the honey-like substance greedily. It was a special elixir made from a golden beetle found only in Aldaí. It was meant to soothe bodily pain as well as get the person incredibly, irresponsibly high.

After downing half the bottle, Beatrice handed it off to Zaahir, who took a sip before passing it off to Kadar. He finished all but a mouthful of it underneath his headscarf.

“This sucks,” Beatrice lamented, finally able to vent.

“I know.” Zaahir slouched with her. “Not that you need to be made aware of this, but your father’s becoming more and more aggressive. His decision-making isn’t clear. He’s becoming unstable.”

“He wasn’t always like this. Or rather, less like this. Lorian’s disappearance is obviously affecting him. What in the fuck are we going to do? They’re looking for Lorian and Lucia when they’re both the same person. Not to mention this Aida person who came out of nowhere from Bělico. And, if we’re to use common sense, of which this whole idea has none, this girl Aida and this adult Aida are the same person, just meeting each other at the same time, which’s never happened before.”

“We need to make contact with Lorian. I was thinking of ways to call her out.”

Beatrice quickly switched over to the new name. In her head, she’d been calling her by what she’d grown up as, but saying her old name just felt out of place. “Everything Lorian ever cared for she’d taken with her a few months ago, and that wasn’t a lot.”

“Do you think she’s still in Roma? It’s been a week since your officers found a lead on them at that woman’s cottage, and it's been a few days since they saw…” He paused. “What do we even call them?”

“I’m partial to doppelgangers,” Beatrice said.

Zaahir looked to Kadar.

“I've heard the term ‘future selves’ get passed around in the halls,” he said. “It's what the servants have been calling them as well as the leading officials, amongst other derogatory names.”

“Your lead Constable said he believed only this Aida girl could travel forwards,” Zaahir said. “Is Lorian now suddenly a traveller?”

“I think it’s something else.” She sighed. “I don't know. If they want us to know, they’d make a statement. Right now, they’re acting like fools and ruining both the royal and Visatorre names.” She tried outstretching her hands. “They’re acting like children. They're not making progress.”

“That we know of. I'm sorry. Do they hurt that badly?”

She cast a hateful look at the nearest wall, narrowing in on where she thought her husband was sleeping. “You better make a better king than both of these men combined.”

“I’m trying my best. Here.” He offered her his hand. “Do you want to take a walk, take your mind off things?”

Fresh air was what she’d been trying to get all night, but she was still stifled in this palace. This place only held her mother, Carmine, and bad memories and punishments unjustly given to her for defending Lorian’s actions.

She put back on her gloves. “Let's get the fuck out of here.”


	20. A Welcome In Ruins

Lorian couldn’t help it: She was absolutely whipped by Aida.

She’d tried to hold onto her wits and dissuade her, but she’d worn her key for a reason. Instead of keeping it hidden in the zip-up pouch within her bag, she’d tied it around her neck, knowing Aida would one day learn that she held the key to every door she wanted open.

She knew this was going to happen, so why did she have the feeling that everything was going to go wrong?

Aida had been right. They couldn’t hide at Missus Sharma’s forever. Knowing Future Aida and Future Lorian, these little pranks around Carmine would only increase. Trickster gods like them didn’t just stop their antics. They’d keep pushing the envelope until something ripped.

“So, does this mean you’re going on a  _ date _ ?”

Lorian covered up Onti’s mouth. “ _ Shh _ .”

“Do you like her?” Chrissie asked.

The two children had cornered Lorian into receiving an answer. She looked over to Aida reading something furiously only meant to be understood by old scholars. She bit the end of her quill as she reread the pages. When she was like this, her nose scrunched up and eyes intense, Lorian could spend hours watching her, dreaming for the day she’d tell her about her love.

She touched her own chest, rubbed down the fingers that’d held Aida’s soft cheek. Aida had finally touched her, connecting with her. She’d said she’d tried falling for others, never fully completing the pact, but what’d happened between them? Did she like blondes? Did she like more masculine people? More feminine? Did looks matter more to her, or was it more so about the heart, the brain?

Their future selves had held hands. Lorian wondered if she could try again tonight.

Chrissie pulled on Lorian’s sleeve. “So? You like her, don’t you?”

“You held her face,” Onti said. “Only moms and dads do that.”

“She’s a very nice girl,” Lorian said, knowing Aida was too wrapped up in her notes to hear them. “Don’t you like her?”

“Yeah, but you like her in a different way, don’t you?” Onti asked. “You look at her like how Mama and Mo’mma look at each other. That’s totally different.”

“That’s a special kind of love,” Chrissie explained.

Lorian turned back into the kitchen to the two mothers. They were helping each other with the dishes Lorian and Aida had made while making bread. Mi’Sharma got a dollop of bubbles on her ring finger and bopped it on Missus Sharma’s nose, making her giggle.

Lorian clasped her hands together to keep them warm.

;;

Aida was busy working on their plans until midnight. They were planning to leave tonight for a few hours, just to see if they could open some doors. But Lorian didn’t believe that. If Aida didn’t lose feeling in both legs, Lorian would have to pry her out of the Catacombs herself before she decided to leave.

“Okay,” Aida whispered, careful not to wake a sleeping cottage. She took out a map she’d cut out from three books and taped together. The art style varied, but they each gave their distinct views and pathways of the Catacombs. “It’d be wise not to take our horses. Two people walking is more inconspicuous than two horses, one of which is a royal horse.”

“She can just be a horse now,” Lorian said.

“Whatever. Are you ready? I won’t leave unless you’re one-hundred percent with me.”

“Yes, I’m only nervous. I feel like the world is very unstable right now.”

“You can feel the world?”

“No, but…” She tried finding the words. “Back in the Palace, whenever my parents were gone for extended periods of time, I always got this pit in my stomach. Their absence meant they were off in an important meeting or conference that would decide the fate of hundreds,  _ thousands _ of people. Sometimes, if they were out of the Palace entirely, it meant they were overseas, in charge of the fates of even more people. I don’t know how to describe it, but I have that sinking feeling right now.”

Aida pulled a jacket over her dress and began tying up her boots. “I have the same type of feeling, but it’s the opposite. I feel like if we don’t go now, something bad might happen. I think—” She lowered her voice even more. “I think it might have something to do with Circa. I mean, the trip to meet Eve, me finding these clues about her and Queen Julia in the Catacombs, and you telling me you have the key to unlock all of that? It can’t be a coincidence.”

“I believe you,” she said honestly. This uneasy feeling could’ve been anything—her past coming back to her or the thought of trespassing over royal grounds.

_ “If you come with me to the Catacombs, I’ll kiss you.” _

She got hot all over again. Had she meant that? Would she really kiss her tonight in exchange for this simple yet dangerous favor? And if she’d meant it, would it mean as much to her as it’d mean to Lorian? Did she like her at all? Lorian hadn’t dressed in her best pants, blouse, and dark overcoat for nothing. She wore her good one, too, the one that reached her knees with gold laced into the expensive fabric. No officer would recognize that she’d stolen it from the Palace, as neither princess would be caught wearing such an outfit.

Her mind spun in circles. She focused on helping Aida and tied on her boots. This was important not only to Aida and herself, but for the future. Somewhere in the depths of Roma’s Catacombs, they’d surely find their answers.

“Are you okay with walking?” Lorian asked. “It’s about a forty-minute walk from here.”

“I'll manage. Once we get there, I want to get a general layout of the entrances and exits. Have you been through a lot of them?”

“Some, yes, but I was very small when Bea and I explored them.”

“Unsupervised? You and Bea?”

“She never enjoyed it as much as I did. Most of the time, I dragged her along with my childish plans.”

“What a criminal.” She tied a small pack to her bag. “Alright, you ready?”

“Let me carry that,” Lorian insisted.

“I got it. Trust me, I’ll hand it off when it starts to irk me, but even then, I ain’t gonna let it bother me now.” She addressed her bad leg. “You hear that, you piece of shit damaged nerve? You’re not ruining this for me.”

Lorian chuckled at her playful tone, but what was she exactly expecting to find? At best, they’d find a dark, damp, empty corridor that’d stretch on for 200 meters before they reached the bones of slaughtered Visatorre. She’d heard the rumors about the place, but seeing the skulls and dusty bones of dead people was something to behold. When she’d first seen it with Beatrice, she was laughing and poking out the eyes of the skulls, testing if they were real or if worms would crawl out. When she’d turned to Beatrice, she’d been crying, and the two ran back up to the Palace before they were found defiling the dead.

“Ready?”

Lorian looked up to Aida standing confidently in the moonlight.

She nodded and left for the front door.

“Excuse me.”

The two froze. From all of Lorian’s time running, she’d expected an officer or even, God forbid, her family. Her emotions had been so over the place that her brain expected the worst.

Missus Sharma stood at the bottom of the staircase wearing nothing but her nightgown. She held out a candlestick to witness their departure.

Lorian bowed to her conditionally. “I apologize. Did we wake you?”

“Where are you going?” she asked. “It’s dangerous to go out now, especially when so many of those officers are looking for you.”

A lie was already beginning to form in her head, something about sleeping outside because Aida was more comfortable around the sound and smell of farm animals. Missus Sharma already knew Lorian’s hidden joy of sleeping where she wasn’t supposed to, so it’d make sense to her. But for some reason, seeing Missus Sharma’s worried expression, she couldn’t find it in herself to lie. Breaking, she confessed, “We were—”

“We’re going out to investigate the truth about Eve,” Aida said. “We found something out pertaining to our mission that we need to go investigate.”

“Where is it that you’re going?”

“The Catacombs. Near the Colosseum,” she added when it looked like Missus Sharma was about to protest, “so it’s not far.”

“But that’s near the Palace.”

“We’ll be walking the east side of the Palace, closer to the Colosseum and the pillars and ruins where the overgrown grass will mask our footsteps. We’ll be covered and hidden, and we’ll be back before morning.”

Missus Sharma’s frown deepened, and Lorian couldn’t blame her. She must’ve known both Lorian and Aida didn’t take well to authority. Nobody could tell them to do anything, and once they—Aida—had something on her mind, nobody could stop them. They could only warn them about the dangers of reckless impulsivity.

“I don’t know about this,” Missus Sharma said. “I’ve seen so many officers around the market. I don’t want them to hurt either of you.”

“There won’t be many at night,” Lorian confirmed.

“Trust me,” Aida said. “King Durante rarely assigns officers this late into the night.”

“And most of their shifts end at midnight,” Lorian said, “and it’s usually officers in training, being given the night shifts the higher-ups are too lazy to cover themselves.”

“We’ll be fine,” Aida stressed, “and I appreciate your kindness, Missus Sharma, but we really have to go, and I think time is only going to be against us the longer we waste it. I just have that feeling about that. I think Circa is with us tonight.”

Missus Sharma lowered her candle. The little flame flickered, their tiniest source of light.

“I fear so greatly about you two and all these choices you and your adult lives are making,” she said. “It keeps me up at night how much I worry about you. But…” She gulped. “I don’t think I can stop you from leaving. I think Circa has many great plans for you, and it’s not my right to stop you when she’s giving you strong hints.”

Lorian, who was ready to fight for their right to leave, closed her mouth. She knew her nursemaid was a spiritual person, but she never thought she was this resolved on Circa.

“Thank you,” Aida said. “We won’t be long, for your sake.”

“Thank you. I'll keep the lights on on the front side of the house. The childrens’ room is on the other side of the house, so they shouldn’t be bothered.” She came over and gave Lorian a big, warm hug. She smelled of her powder and a hint of something flowery. Lorian nestled her face into her, taking her in.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

“I will.”

She turned to Aida. “I have a feeling you don’t take well to hugs.”

“You’d be right.” She held out her hand, and the two of them gave a firm handshake before she and Lorian left on their journey.

The autumn night air had turned Roma chilly and the ground hard and icy, bringing out their breath in puffy clouds. As they left Missus Sharma’s lawn, Aida lit a cigarette to keep herself warm, their only artificial light down the dirt roads winding around the valley.

“Do you want one?” Aida asked.

“No, thank you. It’s bad for my nerves long-term.”

“It’s the opposite for me.”

Lorian looked to an upcoming oak tree around the bend. What a terrible first date, if this was even a date. Back at the Palace, she wasn’t allowed to have any type of interaction with men her own age, and the only courting she had experience with was disgustingly bland meetings with Zaahir surrounded by her guards and his knights. She’d envisioned it, practiced what she’d say to her person during her baths, but deep into the night and she couldn’t find her tongue. Even a joke to offset the uneasiness, it wasn’t there. She had the same problem when she’d first met Aida at the Academy. Maybe she should’ve taken her up on her offer and smoke as much Nectar as she could.

They walked towards the beginning of a stone wall, and Aida pivoted and started walking on top of it. She held out her cane for balance.

“Careful.” Lorian reached for her hand, and she took it. Lorian hated how they were growing farther apart the higher she went.

“I always am,” Aida said. “Now, I’m not one to read the room, but from the vibe you’re giving off, it sounds like you want to say something to me.”

When their hands were about to break apart, the stone wall leveled out back down to earth, and Lorian guided Aida back to her side.

They continued walking. Neither of them let go of the other’s hand.

“Well?” Aida asked.

The blush forming on Lorian’s cheeks spread to her neck. “I don’t want to say anything in fear of messing up what we have.”

“Have you always been such a romantic?”

“I suppose. I’ve read a lot of poems growing up. Some of the etiquette must’ve stuck.”

“That, and you’ve been bred to be a princess one day, dressed like a doll and set to marry a man you’d probably never truly love.”

“It’s why I ran away.”

“And I’m glad you did. If that were me, I would’ve run a long time ago.”

“Because you marrying a man and meant to bear children has been all you ever dreamed of, hasn’t it?”

She gagged, and Lorian laughed, and the comfort she always felt when she was with Aida came to her in a calming wave.

They entered the heart of Roma City on dirt roads and through alleyways, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Lorian only counted three houses with their lights on, and they were far away, up on the hills near the Palace. The Palace itself was coming into view at a staggering pace. When she’d been a princess, she rarely left its cage, and when she did—when she wasn’t escaping like a hooligan—it was in a gold carriage with the windows blacked out or on a ship where she saw nothing but endless ocean.

She walked through the marketplace, down where the meat market met the bakeries that still smelled of fresh dough. Down the way, nearing her family home, she found a hair parlor, a dress shop with magnificent dresses locked away for the night. So much of her people’s lives came from these shops. From the poorest haggler to the richest noble, people walked the streets and continued making Roma a beautiful country with an awful history. From fear of being caught, Lorian kept away from such crowded places, but now, with only Aida by her side, she felt the purpose of the city and its potential for growth and change.

Someone who could run a country would take great care of it. That someone wouldn’t be her.

As they made their way across the main district, they met their target: the ruins. Ruins were everywhere in Roma City, if you knew where to look. Here and there, ancient archways or pieces of school buildings grew from the cobblestone, made only as free accessories to the business country Roma was becoming. But between the city and the Palace, more of this architecture unveiled itself.

Their pathway dipped into the slope. Giant pillars of white stone grew around them, some turning into arches, others crumbling into the air. Guardrails helped keep delinquents like them from climbing to their deaths, and wooden signs had been placed around the corners to warn passerbys of the fragility of the structures around them. The Colosseum was just above them now, hiding the Moon behind its hundreds of arches.

“These were around when Eve was the monarch,” Aida said, hand grazing the stone as she walked. “They say her Palace was built around here. All of this architecture is thought to belong to Roma, but really, this’s all Siina.”

Lorian looked behind her. Conflicting feelings arose, and that moment of pride she had for her country was once again tainted by its bloody history. “Why was her Palace so close to the Roman one?” Lorian asked.

“The true Roman Palace was actually built ten kilometers to the west. After Julia’s murder and the eradication of the Visatorre population, they rebuilt their castle in Siina and took it over. That marketplace we just went through used to be a part of Siina.”

“Oh.”

Aida walked over to a sign reminding people that officers would be in the vicinity from dawn until dusk. She read it, huffed, then took out a dark piece of charcoal and began scribbling over it.

“ _ Aida _ ,” Lorian said in a mocking tone. “How dare you? That’s private property.”

“Well, it wasn’t theirs to begin with.” She signed her work with a circle, then paused before adding another circle in it.

“That’s your future self’s marking.”

“I know.”

“I thought you disliked her.”

“I do, but try to meet anyone who doesn’t hate themselves.” Without dissecting that throw-away, detrimental saying, Aida ashed her cigarette into the wall. “Well, where’s the entrance?”

“Aida, do you hate yourself?”

“No, I just said it to be funny. Look, this place is freaking me out, and I wanna go into the Catacombs as soon as possible.”

Lorian searched the grounds, though her mind never left Aida’s thoughts. “The easiest way is down through here, through the eastern side.”

Aida grabbed Lorian’s hand a little too hard and led the way.

It wasn’t as if the entrance was hidden, and it wasn’t like it was guarded twenty-four-seven by armed officers. The precious artwork and bones were seen as worthless or cursed by the people who’d viciously murdered them.

She shivered as she unlocked the unmanned door. It was heavier than the door to her parents’ war room. When she opened it, stone steps led into pitch black.

“We can finally use this.” Aida pulled out a lantern from her bag and lit it with her lighter. “You ready?”

“Not really,” she said honestly, but followed her in regardless.

Lorian couldn’t tell when they left the surface in exchange for the Catacombs. There was the subtle drop in temperature, the dank air akin to a cave on a wet night. Their light barely provided them any help; it was like walking into pure darkness, the only difference being the dark shades indicating a curve in the hall or locked doorway.

Aida stopped walking and inhaled, and Lorian instinctively reached for her rapier. “What’s wrong?”

She shivered again, and the walls closed in on them. Something was watching them. The heavy air became oppressively stifling like it was weighing on her back. She checked behind her just in case a ghost had followed them into this dead end.

Her parents had sugarcoated this place to her in her youth, telling her she wouldn’t find any decaying bodies or hung-up corpses, that it was just a place meant to bury the dead.

Hundreds of skulls had been pushed into the wall until they looked like bricks packed heavily on top of one another. The fillings between each skull: bone fragments and long human femurs lined up so carefully that they looked like doorways to nowhere.

And deep inside every single skull, as if burned into them with a cattle prod, was the thin halo of a Visatorre marking.

The brutal reality stung Lorian’s eyes. Aida had gone on about how this wasn’t her fault, that it was the result of her forefather’s prejudices, but how could she think that now? This was the history her family had created. It was difficult for Visatorre to obtain jobs, go to school, to work for their livelihoods. She could’ve stood up against her father or at least questioned his ruling, but she’d taken the coward’s way out and ran away. All she thought about was herself, a selfish heir to a selfish kingdom.

Aida kept her face stern as she took in skull after skull. Some had been chipped, some were missing parts of their eye sockets or teeth. The shadows catching on the grooves of the skulls’ jawlines made them seem alive, like they were whispering to them as they passed.

Lorian walked up closer to Aida.

“We’re going to change this,” Aida whispered. In the passage, her voice carried.

“How?” Lorian asked.

“We’ll go back in time and fix this.”

“But you can’t do that now.”

“I’ll find a way. We’ll change it so that none of these people will ever be forced down here in unmarked graves. Even if it means…” She swallowed. “Even if the threads of time and fate get so unbelievably knotted and twisted that I don’t come out of it on the other side, I’ll change this God-forsaken timeline. I swear it.”

Behind her eyeglasses, her eyes, which were fixed in the path in front of her, burned with as much hatred as Lorian’s with determination in the words she spoke. She wasn’t simply announcing a new goal out of the many she already had, she was manifesting it into reality. She was going to change the rules of time or die trying.

Towards the end of the hall, they entered a large, echoing foyer that reminded Lorian of the Palace’s wide ballrooms. This room had the fewest number of skulls crudely buried into the stone, and instead had pillars holding up nothing but empty space, carved out steps leading to new parts of the Catacombs that’d fallen apart. As Aida angled her lantern, they found bats hanging upside down from the ceiling. They neighbored the spider webs that colored the domed ceiling a dusty grey.

Aida stepped forth into the room, her boots echoing like thunder. On the wall were her pieces of artwork she’d been researching: a Palace Lorian couldn’t recognize, people in faded paint being carried by birds to the Heavens. They passed a door with iron gates blocking them from passing. Aida lifted her lantern towards the ceiling.

Centered on the wall was a six-meter tall painting marred beyond recognition. The only traits of a painting being there at all were the subtle paint etched into the stone. Lorian saw two people holding hands, the top of a crowned head, and the gold border the artist had must’ve spent days illustrating.

Aida walked up to the painting, then acknowledged all the other parts of the room. How elaborate the stonework was around the doors, how the artists had elegantly shaped the room with a dome. It wasn’t needed—this place would never have windows to show the world—but these touches helped bring this place regalness, meaning.

Aida went to touch the painting, then she leaned backwards, like a non-existent breeze was whisking her away.

“Are you alright?”

She stumbled back, knees trembling. “I’m gonna jump soon.”

Lorian immediately went to her side. “O-okay. Where should we go? Should you sit down?”

“Take my glasses. They always fall.” She tried to take them off herself, but with her fingers trembling, Lorian took them off for her.

“Here, sit down. I have you.”

“I-if I don’t come back in an hour, you can leave. Tell Missus Sharma—”

“What’re you talking about? I'm not leaving you. How long do you have?”

“Just take my glasses.”

“I already did.”

That telling spark of electricity sliced through the air, indicating that a Visatorre had just jumped, but Aida was still in Lorian’s arms. It came from above.

Two figures were perched on the tallest pillar, one sitting, one standing, watching over the gravesite like owls. So far away from their light, it was hard to guess who they were, but Lorian wasn’t daft. She saw the flowing hair, the dress, her very own hair tied into a longer ponytail: Future Aida and Future Lorian.

Aida’s shoulder hit the stone wall. “S-something’s different,” she panted. “It’s different.”

“Is it more painful?” Lorian tried watching both her and their future selves. What were they doing? What were they planning?

The air shifted. It scattered the dust and howled like a dying wolf.

The next crackle came slow, building itself up from nothing. Lorian saw it in the air, the electricity. No, the  _ energy _ . It flecked the air in blue and gold like diamonds sparkling in the air. It was alive, birthing itself into the world.

The dust on the ground bubbled in front of them. The earth shook. The shadows cast in different directions and splattered the ruins with excited light. Something fell in front of them, but Lorian had to close her eyes; the light was too bright.

A hurt voice gagged for breath, and Lorian looked up to blood. Blood splattered across the wall, over the cobblestone like someone had taken a paintbrush and decorated the ancient stone.

A woman was hunched over and staring at her bloody hands. Her stomach was bleeding out profusely over her burlap dress. It ran down her legs and onto her dirty shoeless feet as she walked in circles before collapsing. Around her, the earth had been scarred by a black circle. “Circa?” she called out. “Circa, God’s Death, where have you gone? Where have you taken her?”

Lorian stepped away with Aida in her arms. Flecks of her blood had dirtied their boots.

She clawed at the ground. “Circa! Circa, why…?” She began crying and held her ripped-open stomach. “Where have you brought me?”

Aida fell to her knees with the woman. Lorian battled between helping her and helping this dying stranger. “You’re in the Roman Catacombs.”

“Where? How?” She coughed. “ _ When _ am I?”

“The year is 1159. Miss, you mustn’t move.” She took off her jacket and helped pat off her blood. What did one do for an injury this bad? She feared pressing down to stop the bleeding. It would’ve made it worse. There was a hole like she’d been pierced by an arrow or spear.

The woman finally looked at her, then the Catacombs around them, the ruins, the art.

Then she smiled. “Hell on Earth,” she cursed, and fell.

Lorian broke through her duties to Aida and dove to hold the woman steady. She had no head injury, but her face looked worn. Her brownish-red hair was short and unevenly cropped, her scleras were yellow due to lack of nutrients. But as Lorian looked at her, she found her pupils were solid white.

And her Visatorre marking was a double ring, the same as Aida’s future self.

Lorian reexamined the woman’s accent and manner of speaking. “Are you from the past?” she asked. “Have you travelled forwards?”

The woman coughed wetly and squeezed where her heart was. “A-aye. From the past, I…” She suppressed a scream. She was shivering, shaking her resolve. “Oh, Julia, my precious jewel, my love, I’m so sorry I’ve forsaken you.”

“Don’t talk,” Lorian begged. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh, my dear, forgive me. I tried, and I failed. I admit my wrongdoings now. I do, I do.”

Lorian wiped her now sweating forehead. “Let me call for someone. Aida—”

Aida was staring down at the dying woman, mouth opened in shock. But she wasn’t staring at the blood or Lorian’s need for someone to take over. She was staring into the woman’s eyes, and she was crying.

“Eve?” she asked, whispering the royal name.

Eve arched her neck to see her and her face, twisted in pain, fell. Mouth dropping just like Aida’s, she twisted her body to reach her. “ _ You _ .”

Lorian went to warn her that the movement was making the blood come quicker, but she expected that this woman—this queen—already knew her fate.

Circa, with all her power and wisdom, was a truly awful God to these people.

“You,” Eve breathed again. Her voice was growing fainter. “How?”

Aida, grimacing through her delayed jump, reached out for her, and Eve, queen of the Visatorre, caressed her cheek lovingly. A smile rose to her lips. “ _ Aida _ .”

A stray tear fell from Aida’s face. Lorian saw a thousand questions flicker through her eyes, trying to pick what question to ask the person who meant the world to her.

Aida looked up, passed Eve, passed Lorian. She opened her mouth to speak.

As soon as the question formed, her body jerked right, her lantern tipped over and, in a flash of light, she was gone.


	21. A New Side Of Eve

Before Aida landed in whatever bullshit timeline she was meant to be in, she was crying. Not sobbing—who'd embarrass themselves enough to audibly sob—but after seeing Queen Eve of Siina slowly and inevitably die in front of her and not being able to save her, she figured she'd lost all dignity at that point. What were a few hateful tears to remind you that you were a failure?

Her jump brought her into a dark corridor lit by sconces. She fell onto an expensive-looking red rug next to a marble statue of some dead man’s head, but who cared? Who the fuck cared about anything anymore?

She fell against the statue and curled into a tight, frustrated ball. She banged her head into the stone until she felt something. Eve had been murdered by the crown, but she was alive, barely, struck in the gut like an animal. And she had Aida’s powers, or her future self’s powers, able to travel forwards and backwards without pain, if that stomach injury wasn’t from her jump, but how? Why? And why did that matter?

It didn’t. Not anymore. No one could survive injuries like that for ten minutes, let alone the hours and hours Aida would spend in the fucking past for no reason. She would die, in the present, beside Lorian, and Aida had done nothing to stop it from happening.

“Fuck,” she cursed, then louder, slamming her fist onto the rug. If she hadn’t been so awestruck and had asked her what’d happened, who’d done this, and where she’d been the moment it happened, she could’ve been helpful. She could've changed history. To this day, no one knew how Eve had died.

And now, nobody ever would.

But beyond all that, beyond her fuck-ups and her embarrassing first real impression to Eve, Eve had known her. “Aida.” Her voice, so frail and close to death, had called out to her so clearly. What had her future self done to make sure that Eve knew who she was? It almost made the pain bearable, to hear her say her name.

Then she remembered all the blood around Eve, her guttural screams of pain as she tried understanding where and when she was.

Aida got up with help of the statue and read the name. It was of a man with too many Roman names, so he must’ve been of wealth. She squinted and read that the date was 42—95, which gave her something to work off of, but the numbers were written in Roman numerals, not numbers.

“They only did that…” She shook away the thought. She couldn't have travelled back more than a millennium twice in one year, or one lifetime. Circa was cruel, but she wasn’t a sadist.

As she walked out into the main hall, she immediately retracted that naive assumption and wanted to strangle her Goddess.

The main hall opened up into a lavish corridor filled with more priceless pieces of art. Murals of the country landscape and portraits of more well-off gentlemen who were both Visatorre and not Visatorre; silver chandeliers lit a hundred times with thin candles. The ceiling arched over her and was held up with wooden beams that criss-crossed one another. The windows were thin and of stained glass, but they let in just enough light to breathe warmth and security into the hall.

Aida held her arms tight to herself. She felt sick and unclean, lost in a place not meant for her. She was a fool for wanting to learn more. Even though she’d prepared herself for the Catacombs, seeing those skulls forgotten and uncared for had gotten to her, like it was her own skeleton decaying in that darkness.

Voices echoed down the hall, and Aida instinctively tripped backwards into her dark hall.

Someone laughed. It was lighthearted and a bit childish, filling the hall with a new warmth. High heels accompanied heavy boots, and someone made a joke about the weather.

Eve turned the corner, laughing with three officers, or gladiators. She was healthy and younger like Aida had first seen her, and no hole had blown out her innards. She was wearing another deep maroon-colored dress like before, so dark it looked black, with gold jewelry and makeup that looked radiant. Her hair was tied up in those tight braids she favored, and her stomach was now triple the size it was during the festival, her baby due any day.

“She is  _ such _ a delight,” Eve said as they passed. “A forward state of progress for this mundane city. Put in a request that I meet with her tonight before the feast. I’d like to have a private session with her.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” one of the sterner looking gladiators said.

“You best be on your best behavior, Your Majesty,” another said. He had orange, spiky hair and freckles dotting his angular face. “I don’t want to be by your side throughout this entire visit to make sure you behave.”

“l’ll be sure that you  _ aren’t _ , Frederico,” Eve said playfully.

Aida went to pick up her dress to follow her, but she was naked, so she ran to Eve and kept with her pace. Her Visatorre marking only had one normal circle as opposed to her strange two, and her eyes were their normal shade of deep brown. Aida put two and two together and figured this was before she’d been attacked, before she had her baby, and before she’d been able to travel forwards. She wondered how all three were connected to one another, and if she had her new eyes and marking during the festival. She couldn’t remember, it was all a blur.

Aida looked over her queen, then slowly touched her shoulder blade and the start of her forearm. In the Catacombs, she’d reached out for Aida. She knew her name. Did she know her now? If she were to become visible, would Eve recognize her?

They passed by a wider set of windows that opened up to a courtyard beneath them. Four stories down were knights training and walking their horses across the yard. She went to strain her eyes to check what nationality they might’ve been, then realized by the multiple lion statues glittering the field that she must’ve been in Roma. Then, looking up, while the roads were different and buildings smaller, she noticed that these homes and communities were Roma City, with Siina possibly being to the right. The layout of the town square resembled the one she and Lorian had walked through. Certain columns and arches looked new as opposed to the ones crumbling in the present. She tried to find the Colosseum, but she needed to stay with Eve so she didn’t lose her and continued on.

“Here’s his room, Your Majesty,” one of Eve’s knights said. He was a little more standoffish than the other two. He was the only one with a metallic etching of a stern-looking lion on his shoulder: A Roman gladiator.

“I’m very familiar, thank you,” Eve said with a smile. “You can wait out here. You—” She looked the Roman gladiator up and down. “Well, I don’t know where to place you. Would you like to follow me in?”

“Only—I…” He looked away, annoyed yet bashful.

Frederico chuckled.

“Nothing like Siina, ’ey, Frederico?” Eve giggled and knocked for herself. “Julius? I have arrived.”

Aida’s first impression of King Julius at the festival was that he was a powerful, standard king of Roma: domineering, regal, composed. He looked like a true king in his chariot meeting with another equally regal monarch.

Here, Aida saw that he was short, shorter than Lorian and all the pictures she’d seen in him, and he had a bit of a beer belly that showed underneath his thin shirt. He wasn’t dressed as all as he should've been to meet Eve, with just this plain shirt, trousers, and black boots that were untied. How dare he insult Eve in his own Palace, and how dare he go against Aida’s expectations of him?

He bowed to Eve. “Good morning, Your Majesty. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I hope my accommodations were to your liking.”

“Very much so, Your Majesty.”

“I do hope you know that ‘Julius’ is more than enough when we’re like this.”

“Oh, is it? Forgive me.” She let herself in. “I was just sure that you’d preferred me to call you a different name when we were alone.”

Aida took her chance and ran in with Eve, all the while keeping an eye on them. If she was hearing them right, this talk indicated something more than formal talk. Not only was it inappropriate, they were supposed to be rivals. Right now, Roma City should’ve been controlling the ocean and its ports, while Siina had settlements along the main rivers, where they grew the grapes to make wine, the biggest export for the country at the time. There were many discrepancies being fought now, so why did they seem like friends? In just a few months, Siina and Roma would be at war, and Eve would be…

This room was no doubt King Julius’ personal bedchamber. His canopy bed looked too expensive to sit on, and the golden art on the wall seemed fit for a museum. Outside, they overlooked yet another courtyard, but this one had flowers and pathways she’d only heard about. This flower garden had been kept for generations. A vase held a few of them on his writing desk: purple and yellow, the colors of Roma.

“I hope finding me wasn’t difficult this time,” King Julius said, locking the door behind him. “You’d said you spent twenty minutes wandering my halls.”

“To keep you waiting, yes, for I never get lost, though I do admit your Palace is very grand.” She ran her hand down the length of his desk. “Almost as grand as mine.”

King Julius smirked and prowled over to her, his saunter slow and calculating.

Aida’s mouth contorted in disgust. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t.

Eve licked her lips as her hands fondled their way into his hair. She pet him slowly before grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head up. He gasped into a smile, and she took him and flung him onto the desk. She pressed her hips and pregnant belly against him.

Aida covered her eyes, notably peeking through her fingers. “Eve, no.”

“Tell me you want to kiss me,” Eve ordered.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, completely submitting to her. “I want to mark you, claim you. I want your everything inside of me, Eve. I love you.”

Eve smiled, then pinned the king’s hand behind him and kissed him passionately.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Aida gagged. “Eve, stop! What're you doing?”

She continued kissing him like Aida wasn’t there. And she wasn’t. She was but a ghost in this timeline, trapped in a room with two disgusting monarchs with no manners or class.

She had to turn away and cover her ears, but the slurping noises came through her fingers. Wasn’t Eve married? Wasn’t King Julius married to Julia? And didn’t  _ Eve _ have something with Julia, too? That’s what she’d thought, with Julia blushing at her touch, that painting in the Catacombs. What was true here?

Was Eve just  _ like _ this? Not like she was marring the royal name—she assumed most monarchs did many questionably immoral things during their reign, but come  _ on _ . What kind of jump was this? What was she learning from seeing this?

She found that banging her head into the window helped block out more of the noise. Eve had undone Julius’ pants and was stroking him, and the noises he was making and the satisfaction Eve gained from it sickened Aida. Out of all of their history, throughout years of historic sites and declarations, Aida  _ had _ to land  _ here _ at this time without a chance to escape?

She hated human beings. Why were they like this? Why did they enjoy doing this in such unimaginable ways? She could barely establish meaningful friendships with people, so when they acted this intimate, moaning and grinding and getting off with other people and their genitalia, it horrified her. It felt like everyone had been built with this special piece in their heart, and her piece of her was missing, or she’d destroyed it along the way and could never get it back. She knew it must’ve felt nice, and sometimes she found herself dreaming about having a person, but when it happened in reality, it soured the whole fantasy.

She pictured Lorian when she thought about this, and she didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

After getting the king off, Eve stood up, proud with herself, and wiped her lips with her sticky thumb. “Good boy.”

King Julius lifted himself up on his elbows with a drunk smile. His cheeks burned red with needy lust. “I love you,” he slurred. “I  _ want _ you.”

“Just like your letter foretold,” she said. “How greedy.”

“Aye. Your being encapsulates my every waking moment. I adore you sincerely, Eve. You’re everything.”

“How charming.” She traced circles over his now unbuttoned shirt. “But, alas, you can’t take up as much refuge in my mind as I do for you, for that border disagreement has my people so worried. They take up all of my time, they do.”

He rolled his eyes. “I must do what’s best for my people, Eve. Surely you of all people understand that. I need the Tiber.”

“As do I. Now, if you were to cease building that awful little dam that will shorten a fifth of my people’s agricultural resources, think of how much time I’d be able to spend with you.”

“The flow of the river is damaging the water beds near my plaza.”

Then we can redirect the current flow of the river into a new one. We have the funds to do that, together.” She pet around his head into his beard. “What do you say, my love? Will you satisfy me?”

He hung back his head. “My advisors will not take this well.”

“Aw, is my little baby afraid of the very men he rules? Do you need a reminder of how it’s really done? How it is to govern men with one hand?”

Julius smirked and wrapped one leg around her. “Alright. I’ll talk with them tomorrow.”

“Good boy.” To reward him, she kissed him again. “Now, what about your wife?”

“What about her?”

She sat back up. “You’re an adulterer. Surely you feel shameful for what you’re doing. How do you treat her, knowing what we do?”

He scoffed. “You need not worry about that woman. She gives me no pleasure compared to your grace. You are all that’s in my heart, as I hope I am with you.” He settled down his fervor. “I’m sure you know I’m much better than that Meyeso.”

Eve slowly cocked her head, running that through her mind. “That so,” she said cooly.

“Aye,” he said boldly.

Eve looked over the king of Roma, twirling his exposed chest hair with her finger. Then she got up and went for the bathroom.

“Where're you going?” he asked.

“To freshen up for round two.”

When King Julius began unbuttoning his shirt, Aida decided that her time was better spent with Eve and quickly followed her into the bathroom.

Eve quietly shut the door, almost politely, and walked to the mirror and looked at herself. Knowing what she’d see, Aida did the same and only saw Eve staring back at her.

Furiously. Biting her inner cheeks, Eve was pissed off and jumping her leg in total frustration.

“ _ What _ ?” Aida demanded. “What’re you thinking? Tell me.”

Eve pushed back her bangs to better reveal her Visatorre marking, and Aida saw her youth slipping away. Despite being in her twenties, there was the weight of a country in her eyes. She was tired, in need of a rest from politics and upsetting men.

She forced out an exhale. “Bastard,” she whispered.

“He is, so why did you do that? He’s a horrible man. He’s going to kill you, so why are you like this with him?”

She fixed up her hair and checked her face from all angles. She was a very beautiful woman. Flecks of gold swam through her brown eyes and her makeup complimented her tan skin and light freckles.

She ruined it by slapping herself in the face. The strike took Aida off guard as well as the second, much harder slap. After hitting herself, she pinched the death out of her cheeks until they were redder than her blush. To finish it off, she stared deeply into her reflection without blinking until tears dripped out of her eyes. She hiccuped, fanning her face like she was actually in distress. “Oh, I cannot bear it!” she said dramatically, and flung herself out of the room.

“Fuck—” Aida slipped out before the door slammed.

The king was up, trying to battle to fix his pants on. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…Oh, I can’t do this right now. It’s too soon.” She cried into her wrist, but when Julius went to hold her, she aggressively pushed him back and ran out of the bedroom.

“Eve—” He jumped back behind his dresser so the gladiators didn’t see him. “Are you serious?”

“I need to leave. Farewell.”

“God damn it.” Aida ran before she lost Eve again, but the king’s stupid, elegant rug tripped her up, now as solid as stone, and those few seconds cost her everything. Eve ran, shut the door, and left Aida alone with a sweaty, horny King Julius.

“Fuck!” She hit the ground again. “Damn you, Eve!”

“Curse her,” Julius agreed, and put his hands on his hips. “Cursed courtesan. The things I do for her.”

“Do  _ what _ ?” Aida spat. If she was going to be trapped in this damn room for however many more hellish hours, the least she could do was vent out her grievances with this monarch. “You and your actions are what cursed the Romano family tree in bloodlust. You’re selfish, you’re stupid, you’re a horny disgrace to all Roman customs! Fuck you. I don't ever want to see you again.”

Her woozy feeling came back, and she braced herself for the pain she’d have to endure when she jumped back to the present. Would she even survive the trip back? She hadn’t even thought about that.

Very much like her to worry more about dead monarchs than her own self.

The air around her swirled in her ears, and she fell forwards into her darkness.

\--

She landed wrong in several ways.

One, she landed on her bad knee, and while it didn’t hurt directly, her brain acted like it did.

Two, she wasn’t hurting. Her hand was as normal as ever, her thoughts clear.

Three, she was still in the Roman Palace. The same layout, the same red rug and art of dead Roman men. It even looked like the same day, with the Sun still behind the Palace and cooling the hall in a comfortable blue.

Hurried high heels ran down the hall Aida had fallen into, and she turned to see none other than Eve along with her two gladiators. She had lost her tears as well as her meek demeanor as she ran with her dress lifted, but her cheeks were still red from forcing the tears out. “Jules.”

Jules—Queen Julia—poked her head out from Aida’s corridor. “Eta.”

The two embraced in the main hall, then, to keep discrete, hid next to Aida. Aida dusted off her confusion and followed them down the dead end. The two gladiators stayed back to give them privacy.

Jules grasped onto Eve’s sleeves. She almost looked ready to pass out if not for Eve’s touch.

They were wearing those matching bracelets. From this close up, Aida could tell that Eve’s had a blue stone in the bracelet with the letter  _ J _ carved into it. Julia’s had the letter  _ E. _

“Oh, Eta, please be merciful,” Jules begged. “What did he do? What did he say?”

“I regret to say that he reaffirmed your fears. He did come on to me. I’m sorry.”

Jules crumpled and cried into Eve’s shoulder. Despite being so short, she held her tenderly, massaging her back in comfort.

“I knew it,” Jules cried. “I didn’t want to, but I knew it, I did. What did he do?”

“He confirmed that what he wrote to me was genuine and confessed his love. It was short-sighted, love, he said nothing about my inner beauty.”

“Oh, Circa almighty. I knew it. I heard the rumors but wanted to know myself. Did he do anything else?”

Eve paused, then wiped away her good friend’s tears. “No, love. I left before he did anything.” She kissed her temple, washing away her worries. “He’s too good for you, my love. Don’t plague yourself over his misdoings. You’re a beautiful gemstone in this city of greedy fools. Do not let their sins overcome your sense of truth.”

Jules nodded along with everything she said. “I-I won’t. I’ll stay strong, for Roma, for you.”

“Good girl.” She tilted Jules’ golden head and left a gentle kiss on her chin, and then her lips, gentler, like a feather touching a still pond.

Aida replicated their hands over her own body. Their energy was so much different than Jules’ reject of a husband. These two were, from what she knew, love itself, pure and experimental and fortified by passion and understanding.

Then her hands dropped. “Wait,” she said aloud. “You’re lying to her. You did much more than just talk with him. You’re just as much a cheater as he is.”

She kept watching them, these confusing women embracing in secret, and she felt that sinking feeling again. No matter how much history she crammed into her brain, she’d always feel this: hollowness, a spot in her heart she’d never fill, a dance everyone knew but her.

Her body swayed, dancing its own dance, and she was swept back into time.

Before she lost sight of the girls, her body burned up in blistering, numbing pain.


	22. Royal Affairs

Lorian didn’t take well to stress. Whether it was her father punishing her or her being caught for doing something wrong, instead of trying to explain herself, she’d freak out, act like a child. Throw, hit, attack. It was her animalistic reaction that she hadn’t yet mastered, and it was near impossible to deal with those emotions now without Aida.

Eve groaned and fingered her open wound.

“Please, stop doing that,” Lorian begged. “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Oh, will it, young one?” She coughed weakly. Her breath was barely there anymore. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Just keep still. You’ll be alright.” Keeping her fake smile, Lorian eyed the pillar holding her and Aida’s future selves. They were still there, watching like onlookers at the Colosseum.

“Do something,” she whispered to them. “Please.”

“Child.”

She looked down at the dying monarch.

“Tell me. Your beautiful locks, your fair complexion. Are you of King Julius’ line?”

Sensing she had no reason to lie to Eve, Lorian said, “I am, Your Majesty. He’s one of my grandfathers. I’m second in line for the throne.”

“So his reign continued. How fortunate. And…And Aida…” She reached over her head like she was still there. “Where did she go?”

“She jumped, Your Majesty. She’s a Visatorre, just like you.” She gulped, not ready to hear the answer to her next question. “H-how do you know her? Did you know her future self, older self? Have you met her before?”

“Aida.” Her eyes closed. “I need to speak to her…again.”

“No—no.” She gently shook her. “Please, stay with me.”

But it was pointless. Lorian knew that. It wasn’t as if a few stitches or a hasty surgery could save her now.

A tear hit Eve’s cheek. She opened one eye.

“I’m sorry.” Lorian sniffled. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything to save you. Aida, she loved you. She’s studied every history book that mentioned your name. She would’ve loved to meet you. But you’ll be with Circa soon. Soon, you’ll be with your God.”

A blissful smile painted over Eve’s face. “She loved me?”

“ _Loves_ . She _loves_ you, and I know meeting you has made her whole life so much better.”

If she could’ve, she probably would’ve laughed. Lorian saw the corners of her mouth, the twinkle in her eye; she wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Instead, she took Lorian’s hand and squeezed it like a newborn baby.

Lorian smiled back as she stroked her thumb. “I have you. You’re going to be okay.”

Eve’s eyes focused on Lorian’s. “You’re lying.”

She nodded, face now scrunching to keep from herself openly sobbing. “I am.”

She closed her eyes. “As a royal would.”

The next few moments passed very slowly and too fast all at once. At times, Lorian thought if she ran hard enough and found a doctor, she could've saved her. If she’d allotted more time with her nurses, if she’d studied suturing or chest compressions or tourniquets, she could’ve helped.

Lorian hadn’t known her, but with how often Aida mentioned her and how long she’d been in the back of Lorian’s mind, she felt like a lost family member Lorian hadn’t gotten to know.

When she stopped breathing and death finally took her away, Lorian, alone, cried for her. She didn’t know how long: ten minutes, a half-hour. The cold Catacomb air froze her tears to her face as she wiped them dry. It wasn’t fair, or right. She didn't want this memory in her.

She looked back up to the pillar. Without realizing it, she and Aida’s future selves had vanished.

Overcome by true loneliness, Lorian sobbed into her hands. It’d been months since she’d truly been alone. All her life she had her family, her maids, nurses, officers, and advisors to heed her every selfish call. After leaving the Palace, she’d cried just like this in the woods, overwhelmed by the feeling of not having anyone to talk to. If only she had Aida back.

“Lucia?”

Her eyes went up to the pillar, but it was still empty.

“Lorian.”

It should’ve been recognizable, that voice. It was her’s, pitched an octave higher, her emotions withdrawn instead of always on the surface.

Behind her, standing in one of the open archways with two lanterns, were Beatrice, Zaahir, and Zaahir’s lover, Kadar.

Lorian tried to move away, but Eve had become dead weight, literally, and weighed her down. All the life and tenseness she held in her body was gone. She was as helpful to explain this situation as the cracked skulls watching them.

Beatrice lifted her dress and walked down a short staircase to get to Lorian. She eyed the ancient artwork and Eve’s body skeptically. “What're you doing?” she asked, then, clearer, “What did you do?”

The last sentence struck Lorian with more pain. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and all she had to fling at her was accusations, like it was expected that she’d mess up.

Reading the atmosphere, Zaahir came up close to her but gave her—and Eve—their space. “Are you alright?”

She didn’t know why, but hearing _that_ , that one question only for her, broke her. Her senses overcame her, she began to tremble. Breaking fully to pieces, she lowered her head and sobbed in front of the world’s two monarchs-to-be.

Thankfully, the humiliation came and went. Her leaving her own wedding and disappearing seemed to have helped, but it just solidified her incompetence in front of these two. They’d inspired her, made her want to be better in every way, not just as a royal, but as a person. Her sister was that of a second parent, always knowing what to do, being so level-headed and emotionless, and Zaahir. When Lorian had first met him as a child, she’d thought he was already a king with how he carried himself. He was so strong and authoritative.

She was never meant to be like them. She’d been born wrong, in every way, left to act like a child while these true leaders held up the world.

Zaahir let Lorian cry on him. His shoulder was warm and his breath smelled of Nectar.

Kadar eyed the clearly dead body with revulsion.

“What happened to her?” Zaahir asked in a soft voice.

“I-I don’t know. She jumped right in front of us. She was already bleeding, I tried to…” She sighed breathlessly into her hands. “I couldn’t do anything in time.”

“What do you mean? Was she visible when she jumped?”

She nodded. “She’s Eve. Eve Costa. She was the queen of Siina a millennium ago.”

Zaahir looked down at the monarch’s face. Her eyes were still open, the tranquil look becoming more unnerving than anything. He touched her wet bangs to reveal her unique Visatorre marking, then checked her pulse by placing two fingers against her throat.

“I didn’t do it,” Lorian told them. “It wasn’t my fault.”

Beatrice, at seeing the way Eve’s body lifelessly rocked back and forth, turned away with grit teeth. She was never good with death. Who was?

Zaahir kept staring at Eve, then looked up at Lorian, composed. “I believe you.”

Lorian went to keep defending herself, then stopped, unsure of how to respond to someone who wholeheartedly believed her at the first try.

“Her haircut is reminiscent of that of the Roman style in the Classical Era, and her skin, aside from…” He eyed her wound. “She smells like Roman roses, and you can see the remnants of that on her skin.” He pointed at the side of her neck that was slightly stained red. “This was very common during that time period. And I’ve never seen you this distraught, and I can’t imagine you ever doing something like this to someone. I believe you, so do not worry.”

“I-I wouldn’t,” she said, cursing the stutter now present in her voice. “She just fell into us.”

“Us?”

“Aida and me.” She gulped. “The, uh, girl I’ve been with.”

“That future self.”

“Yes. But she isn’t like that. Gods, it’s so difficult to explain. We don’t know anything about what’s going on.”

“Easy.” Zaahir took her so she didn’t stain his beige robe. “How long has it been since she passed?”

“Just now. Aida jumped somewhere. It’ll take hours for her to come back. I don’t know what to do.”

She dug up a fistful of cold dirt. She wanted her back. She didn't want to be alone for another second, worrying for her and wondering if this would be the last time she ever saw her. She couldn’t stand another goodbye tonight.

Zaahir pushed up his sleeves. “She needs a proper burial. Officers will be skeptical about her body. She will have no records, no proper documentation about being a citizen of Roma.”

“You can lie,” Lorian offered. “She’s a Visatorre, we can just say she was homeless. It wouldn’t be unbelievable.”

Zaahir nodded. “I will see to it that she is buried here, with her people, but we can’t stay here. We need to get help.”

“I can’t leave,” Lorian said. “I need to wait for Aida to come back. She won’t have any light to come back to, and to see Eve’s body—“ She choked on her breath. What would Aida say if she knew Lorian had let her die?

“We can’t stay here,” Beatrice argued. “It’s not safe. These walls are ancient. Any piece from the ceiling can come crashing down on us.”

Lorian whipped her head to her. “I’m not going back to the Palace.”

Beatrice stared down at her like a bug. She couldn't believe that after months of not seeing her, she was still disgusted by everything Lorian did that wasn’t up to her standards. Even when she was crying in a cemetery their ancestors had created.

Beatrice held firm. “If you come back to the Palace now—”

“I’m not.”

“ _Listen_ to me,” she said. “If you come back, we can set aside these rumors and misconceptions about these…people.” She made a face. “What is this, these future selves that everyone’s been going on about? What are you doing with them?”

“Beatrice, might we—?”

“What does it matter, I’m not going back!” Lorian argued. “That's the whole reason I left, to be rid of this. I have no idea what those two are doing.” She pointed upwards at the empty pillar they’d been sitting on. “They’re our future selves, _ergo_ , I have no say or control over what they do. They’ve only spoken to us twice, telling us there’s some grand plan we need to do, but whatever we try to do ends up blowing up in our faces. We get chased by Carmine, we think coming down here will result in finding answers, but we just lost the only person who could’ve helped us, so stop yelling at me for the right answers, because clearly, I have none!”

She knew her voice was rising, so she huffed and ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I’m not going back home. I shan’t.”

Zaahir nodded understandingly. “Alright, then we won’t bring you to the Palace.”

Beatrice looked at him.

“But we should take refuge while you calm down. Your sister is right, it’s not safe for all three of us to be here, and this scene is unsettling. Is there anything we can do to help right now?”

Lorian began folding Aida’s clothes, collecting her fallen shoes. “I just need to wait for Aida to return. Something’s been wrong with her jumps, she keeps going back farther and farther in time and she keeps getting hurt, and I don’t know…I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how to help her.” The tears came back. She blotted them with her sleeve, keeping Aida’s clothes clean. “I have to be here when she comes back. I have to protect her.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Zaahir took off one of his winter robes and draped it over Eve’s body. Then he took Lorian’s hand, and the four of them went towards the wall, behind a pillar. “Why were you down here in the first place?”

Lorian crouched behind the pillar, knees tucked close to her chin. “We were searching for clues. Aida said she had a hunch to come down here tonight. Looks like that hunch was right, but…” She dug the balls of her hands into her eyes.

“Lu…” Zaahir knelt beside her. “Is it Lorian now?”

“It is.”

“Okay, Lorian, I know you don’t wish to go back to the Palace, and if that is your wish, we will not force you to go back. But can you please tell us what your plan is for the time being? What do you wish for? What are you planning to do next?”

Lorian chuckled and covered her eyes. “Do you think someone like me thinks ahead of her actions?”

While Zaahir smiled politely at Lorian’s attempt to be humorous, Beatrice just clicked her tongue and turned away from her, hands crossed like she was a mother upset by her child.

Lorian had so many mixed feelings about her. At once, they’d be playing games in the Palace grounds, the next, Beatrice would be yelling at her for being a nuisance. She got into as many troubles as Lorian did, yet she’d always wiggle her way out of scoldings. As the years progressed, Beatrice became closer and closer to their parents and their ideals, leaving Lorian by herself, now seen as the sole heir who was a disappointment to the throne.

She hadn’t even hugged her or said how thankful she was that she was alive. She hadn’t even smiled. Was that asking too much, for a smile and a, “How are you?” and not a, “Why are you like this?”

She turned away. She knew it was. She’d known for years that this’s how her sister was, she only wished it was different, that they’d finally see eye to eye, but it wouldn’t happen, and she needed to accept that.

“What happened?”

Lorian tried not looking at her.

“When we were coming down, we heard a crash,” Beatrice continued. “Was that from the Visatorre jumping, or…”

Lorian looked down at her own hands. The blood was still there. She didn’t know if wiping it off would help or only make matters worse. “Yeah. Their jumps have been different. Why were you three down here to hear it, anyway? Surely your knights wouldn’t allow the next heirs to have a fling in the Catacombs.”

“We were taking a stroll to clear our heads. Your father has been very adamant about finding these two future selves to calm down his city. It’s why we seemed so pushy when it came to learning about what’s really happening. Then we heard what sounded like loud gunshots coming from the open door of the Catacomb, and we decided to come investigate.”

“Who’s being impulsive now?”

Beatrice scoffed.

Lorian leaned over. “Frog in your throat?”

“The air down here is not right for our lungs.”

“Well, I’m not leaving without Aida, so, by all means, leave if you so wish. Nobody’s forcing you to make choices you obviously disagree with.”

“Lorian.” Zaahir sighed. “I don’t wish to see us fighting again. Now is not the time. Where have you been living?”

“You won’t rat on me to my father, will you?” She looked to Kadar. “Not him, right?”

Kadar placed a pointer finger to his lips.

“He’ll take any secret with him to his grave,” Zaahir promised. “As will I.”

Lorian drew circles in the dirt. “I’ve been with my nursemaid, Missus Sharma.”

“ _She’s_ keeping you?” Beatrice asked.

“Yes,” she said, and gave them a condensed version of everything that’d happened since the wedding.

They didn’t interrupt her. It wasn’t like in council meetings where everyone was yelling at each other to speak louder. The ones she’d been allowed in had been that way, and it always made her dizzy with panic. She appreciated their silence, but it was odd talking for so long and not being interrupted with facts or knowledge that she wasn’t aware of.

When she finished nearly an hour later, their lanterns had dimmed to a deep amber. Zaahir had his ankles crossed and was holding the back of his head with his hands. Beatrice was leaning on a falling column. Kadar hadn’t moved.

“That sounds all very exciting, don’t you think?” Zaahir asked.

“Not really. I’ve been nervous since I left. All this hiding and running about in the dark. My future self scares me the most. She’s dressed like a queen, or king.”

“Maybe she is,” offered Zaahir. “You have royal blood in your veins. Maybe you’ll become a great ruler.”

Lorian didn’t entertain the fact. “We were thinking they might be from an alternate universe. I’ve heard about those in fictional stories. A world where it’s almost the same as ours, but certain things are different. Instead of riding horses, we ride things like wild pigs or birds, or something entirely different, something we can’t even fathom. And maybe, in this world, these two are Gods dressed up like us to deliver a message.”

“Why do you think that? Being that they sound like you, talk like you, act like you—”

She held herself. “Because I can’t imagine myself putting a crown back on my head.”

That snap, the electrifying pulse that shaped the air whenever a Visatorre travelled, now made Lorian terrified. Her heart jumped not in fear of seeing someone naked or finding someone gone from the world she knew, but fear of pain, death, and uncertainty brought upon by their chaotic future selves.

To Lorian’s relief, Aida wasn’t choking or convulsing like she’d done the last time she’d jumped back to her. She simply looked asleep, knocked out from a regular jump.

“Aida.” Lorian ran over to her.

She was staring up at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused, mouth agape.

Lorian’s heart thudded in her ears. She shook her shoulder. “Aida?”

She didn’t react.

She shook her much rougher than she should’ve, but she needed to see her move, breathe, something. Aida wasn’t the type to keep quiet, and she wasn’t that heavy a sleeper.

Her head thrashed back and forth. Her unfocused eyes stared off at nothing.

Lorian blinked back tears and searched her body for another way to test it. She wouldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. She had a future self, she had so many plans set to come true. Surely, this wasn’t two timelines. She knew she’d just mentioned the alternate timeline, but she knew it was wrong. She knew that boisterous, fun-loving woman was a part of Aida. She couldn’t have ended it here.

Zaahir ran up to her. “What’s wrong?”

“S-she’s not breathing.” Lorian choked as she looked between all of them. “W-what do we do? She’s not breathing.”

“Let me try.” Zaahir checked her pulse himself, blinking rapidly as he searched for what Lorian couldn’t find. Then he stood up above Aida’s body, opened her airways, laced his fingers together, and began pressing down hard into the middle of her chest.

Lorian scooted out of the way. The amount of pressure he was putting on her chest was sure to splinter her ribs. She almost told him to be gentler, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He counted under his breath the number of seconds he needed to keep going in order to bring her back.

Minutes passed. Sweat jumped off of Zaahir’s jaw as he worked on Aida’s lifeless body. He’d stop, check for breathing, listen to her heart, continue. That lifeless look in her eyes, she looked so much like Eve at that moment, it made Lorian sick.

“Come on,” Zaahir panted. “Come back to us.”

“Please,” Lorian said. “Aida, you have so much more to do. You can’t leave me now. I won’t allow it.”

Zaahir sighed, tired from chest compressions, and tried breathing into her mouth again.

Aida gasped, hoarse and broken but there and back from the dead. She reached out for Zaahir, but he kept her down.

“Easy, _easy_ ,” he said. “You’re alright, just relax.”

Lorian didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not. Aida had her back arched, contorting herself in agony. She sounded like she was choking on water, but nothing was coming up other than her own air.

Beatrice, Beatrice stayed back in the shadows without saying a word.

Kadar came around and helped adjust her. She was scratching at her neck, indicating that she couldn’t breathe, but she was still gasping properly, or improperly. Lorian didn’t know. How lost she felt, seeing someone she loved in indescribable pain and being unable to do anything to help them.

Giving room for Zaahir and Kadar to work, Lorian crept up to Aida and held her hand.

Aida gripped her fingers as if she was moment’s away from a true death. Her nails cut into her skin and made her bleed. She didn’t look over to Lorian—honestly, she probably didn’t know Lorian was there—but this, it was enough, to have her back.

“We need to take her to a doctor,” Zaahir advised. “I’ve never seen this type of attack in a Visatorre before.”

“We can’t,” Lorian said. “They’re looking for us. If they find out that we’re still here, they’ll have her detained or hanged, and I’ll…” She paused, wondering if this was a selfish request. Who cared about if she wanted to see her parents again when Aida was this badly hurt? Missus Sharma could do most things, but Lorian didn’t know if she was able to act like a doctor could.

Then she figured what Aida would’ve wanted, or hated, rather. “We can’t,” she finalized. “We’ll take her back home.”

“Where?” Beatrice asked.

Lorian helped lift Aida up. She pretended not to notice Eve’s body still watching them in the shadows. “To Missus Sharma’s cottage.”


	23. Royal Fray

It didn’t take much to convince the trio to follow Lorian out of the Catacombs and back down the dirt path to Missus Sharma’s. Seeing Aida convulse sent Zaahir into his protective nature, and Kadar did anything his prince asked.

Lorian felt Beatrice’s eyes on her for the whole venture back, judging her, hating her. She’d only agreed to come along per Zaahir’s polite request. It wasn’t like she could go back home without him. Lorian kept her eyes ahead, ignoring her. She’d learned to brush aside her poignant glaring from past family outings.

She was failing.

Even well into the night, the backyard lantern was still lit. Chrissie’s and Onti’s room were on the other side of the house, but she didn't know if Missus and Mi’Sharma’s room shared a window on this side. The rest of the house was dark.

Mi’Sharma slammed open the back door with a candle in hand. “Lorian!” Her wrinkly face wilted when she caught Beatrice and Zaahir in her candlelight. “Oh, your Majesty.” She curtsied. “Your Highness, forgive me.”

Lorian hopped off of her horse before she finished trotting. “Aida’s hurt.”

“Is she—?”

“She’s alive,” she said, but it wasn't convincing. Aida had stopped choking on her own breath, but she still wasn't “there.” Her eyes were unfocused and she kept moaning whenever she moved.

Zaahir and Kadar helped Aida off of Kadar’s horse. They were tall horses meant to see over tall grasses, so when she fell, she fell hard. It took both of their combined strengths to keep her from twisting an ankle. Beatrice picked her dress off the ground, careful so as not to dirty it.

They helped her and into their Nest of blankets and pillows. Zaahir treaded carefully over the fallen pillows to find a place for Aida.

“Oh, no, dear, please.” Mi’Sharma motioned for the stairs. “Let her stay in a proper bed. It’s what she needs most right now.”

“But you haven’t any spare beds,” Lorian said.

“She can have ours. Missus Sharma has been busy reading, waiting for you to return. Oh, darling, what has become of you?”

Lorian didn’t know if she was addressing her or Aida. She didn't have an answer for either.

They brought Aida up the stairs. She’d found her feet, but her knees were bent at odd angles and her head sagged and twitched at every step. It was like she was partly there, partly somewhere else, like she didn’t know why she was walking but knew that she needed to keep going. Lorian couldn’t fathom what she was going through.

At the top of the stairs, a door creaked open to Chrissie and Onti. Their whispers radiated intrigue about what they were seeing. At the sight of Zaahir, Chrissie blushed and ran back into the shadows. Her hands shot out and dragged Onti back to bed.

“Wait!” he protested. “They’re important, ain't they? They're royal, right?”

Missus Sharma took their entrance very well. She looked up, dropped her jaw, closed it, closed her book, and flapped open the covers for Aida. “Sit her here.”

“I’m sorry,” Lorian said.

“Did she jump wrong?”

“Yes. It’s worse than before. She—” She didn’t realize she was falling until she dropped to the bed with Aida. Her chest was pounding and she was breathing as heavily as Aida was. Aida herself fell asleep almost instantly. Her jerks subsided into slight head ticks and eye flutters.

“Is there anything we can do?” Zaahir asked. “Say the word and we’ll be here with doctors, medicine. We can be as discreet as possible, they won’t say a word.”

“I think we’ve done all that we can do,” Beatrice said. “They don’t have treatments for what she’s going through. All we can do is wait.”

Even though she’d spoken the truth, it still pissed Lorian off that she said it so nonchalantly, like she couldn’t care less about helping anyone so long as she could get back home before sunrise.

The night wind whispered against the house, shifting the walls. The low fire they had going crackled and sparked out of the fireplace.

Mi’Sharma cleared her throat. “Shall I make everyone some tea? Your Highness, are you hungry?”

Beatrice just shook her head. Back at the Colosseum, Lorian had nearly fallen into Missus Sharma's arms, but Beatrice had barely looked at her. What was wrong with her?

“That’s quite alright, Missus,” Zaahir said. “We really should be on our way. The two of us shouldn't be out like this in the first place. We appreciate you inviting us into your home. It looks like you have a wonderful family.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your Highness. Oh.” Mi’Sharma covered her mouth. “How did you do this for almost two decades, darling?”

“It comes with practice and expectations,” Missus Sharma said. “Neither of which I can muster up at this moment.” She pet back Aida’s hair as she rested. “Poor dearie. She’s gone through so much.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Lorian promised. “I’ll stay with her all night and make sure…” She gulped. “Make sure she doesn’t…”

“She’ll be alright,” Zaahir said. “If she isn’t, you know where to reach us.” He touched Lorian’s shoulder. “Please, if you need to go to anyone, come find us. We’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you. And thank you,” she said to Kadar, “for helping her.”

He simply bowed, a hand over his belly button.

Missus Sharma looked over to Beatrice, the only one not addressed. Lorian pretended not to notice that.

“Oh, I can’t stand this!” Mi’Sharma said. “I need to offer you something, anything at all. If word gets back to my family that I neglected to serve tea to the future king of Aldaí, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Zaahir smiled charmingly. “A spot of herbal tea will be lovely, then, thank you.”

“I’ll help as well,” Missus Sharma said. “If any of you need anything else, please, don’t be shy, I’ll be happy to get it.” She walked close to Beatrice and bowed. Beatrice bowed back. She almost smiled.

And almost went to leave with the two women. Went to, but didn’t. A conversation hung in the air, begging to be said.

“What?” Lorian asked. “You want to say something, don’t you?”

She turned to Lorian, her perfect hair whipping around her perfectly angled face. Somehow, she'd inherited neither their father’s aggression nor their mother’s meekness. Whenever anything upsetting happened, she was as emotionless as a corpse.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Lorian’s brows shot up.

“But I want you to come back home.”

Her face fell, as well as her expectations for her sister yet again. So close. Why was she so hard to love?

“I know you left for…reasons of which I understand, but you can’t live your life hiding and evading what needs to be addressed. You are engaged to Zaahir and you have a country and  _ world _ wondering what you’re doing with this girl. You should speak out about what you’re planning. You should come up with a plan.”

“I  _ do _ have a plan, and it’s staying as far away from Father as possible.”

“That’s not logical. You need to go back at some point.”

“I won't.”

“Think about Mother.”

“I’m not going back!”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the air radiating with unspoken energy.

Kadar, someone Lorian remembered as always being in the shadows, jerked forwards with a sudden hand over his temple. Zaahir was instantly by his side, holding him by the shoulders.

“ _ Amar _ ?” Zaahir whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Kadar grunted. “I need to…”

“That’s alright.” He led his servant to the center of the room. “I’m here.”

“But you’re alone. It’s not safe.”

“I’ll stay here. I’ll send a message to the king. I’ll be fine, okay?” He whispered more to him in Aldaían, then kissed the top of his brow before a bright light took Kadar from Zaahir’s arms.

Lorian jumped back, not expecting the disappearance. “He’s a Visatorre?”

Zaahir breathed out, controlling himself, then began folding Kadar’s clothes that lay scattered on the floor. “He is, yes.”

“And he’s allowed to be a guard? Not to be rude, but wouldn’t that cause liabilities?”

He went to the nearest open window and whistled with his fingers to his mouth, a quick, sharp pitch that carried into the night. In seconds, a pair of heavy wings flew to the windowsill. An Aldaían Hawk, brown and sleek with a black head, rested on the edge. It wore a small, woven pack around its thin body, the strings hidden within its fluffy middle.

Zaahir took out a small piece of paper and a writing pen from his pocket. “He’s not a liability because of the way he was born, but for safety reasons, I’m always followed by a carrier hawk in case I need to send an emergency letter anywhere I am.”

Lorian lowered his head, ashamed for how she’d been programmed to think. “I neither meant to offend you nor him. I’m used to how Roma works. Roman Visatorre can’t become officers.”

“I know.” He folded the letter, slipped it into the hawk’s pack, and sent it back into the night. “It’s one change I wish to see in Roma. I thought I could sway the way this country works after our marriage alliance. I had plans to reform your schools, help the Visatorre jobless crisis. We have so many models in Aldaí that we could’ve incorporated here that would’ve benefited both countries.”

Lorian looked away, as did Beatrice and even Zaahir himself.

“Well,” Beatrice said, saving them from speaking any more about this. “Since we’re going to be here for a few more hours than initially planned, let me go speak with Missus Sharma about our untimely visit.”

“Wait a moment,” Zaahir said. “Now that we’re finally together, we should think about what we’re going to do next.”

“My say is whatever you agree with,” Beatrice said with a wave of her hand. “We won’t get anywhere here with how we are now, so high-strung with emotions.”

“Aida almost  _ died _ ,” Lorian snapped at her. “She  _ did  _ die. Can’t you be a little more considerate of that?”

“I  _ am _ being considerate. Her condition is why I’m saying we won’t come to a resolution with you acting this way and Zaahir’s mind on Kadar. Don’t deny it, Zaahir. I know you too well to know that that’s not exactly what you’re thinking right now.”

Zaahir sighed. “I do agree that we must come up with a plan of action for settling down your father with these future selves and what they’re planning, but I don’t think—”

“Well, Beatrice is clearly not going to voice her opinion on the matter,” Lorian said. “She gave it one try, no use in trying anymore.”

Beatrice flared her nostrils. It childishly got Lorian going. Her chest burned. “And you won’t get a logical answer from me, so there’s no point in adding me to the discussion.”

“Please,” Beatrice groaned. “Spare us this.”

Lorian jumped to her feet. “What is your  _ problem  _ with me? You haven’t seen me in months. I run away without giving a reason why. I’ve been tormented by these future selves who only want to poke fun at our misdoings, and I’ve been…I—” She felt herself tearing up at trying to come up with an excuse for this anger, but all she saw in front of her was Beatrice. The person who was supposed to be there for her. Her sister. Her twin.

“What the fuck happened to you?” she demanded. “Why did you become like this?”

Beatrice stood up taller with the scowl Lorian had been waiting to form. “I took care of what needed to be taken care of. We have duties, Lorian, and if you don’t wish to come back, then  _ don’t _ .  _ Don’t _ come back.  _ Don’t _ abide by the rules. But  _ state _ what you need. Abdicate properly. Annul the marriage. Let the world continue without waiting for you to decide when you’re going to stop acting like this. I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m already set for my path, but you aren’t.”

Lorian gaped at her. She was used to her sister’s lectures, but never before had she been this raw.

Lorian pushed her. “You make it sound like I don’t care for my country. It’s not like I want Roma to burn. I just don’t want to be an heir. You knew, you  _ always _ knew I never wanted to be a princess.”

“You two, stop it—”

“Of  _ course  _ I knew,” Beatrice said, “and I never wanted to be married, either. What are you getting at? Do you think Zaahir wanted this? Do you think I wanted this? Our blood isn't ours, it's for our country. Zaahir has a lover and needed to marry you to appease our parents. I knew that the alliance with Bělico during an incredibly harsh winter season was needed for the family, for our country. It was what  _ needed  _ to be done.”

“You were six!”

“Yes, I was! Are you trying to say that it’s unfair, that being a royal heir means that you’re thrown about to appease others without our consent, because yes, that’s what it means! That’s what our lives will always be. So yes, Zaahir will marry a person he doesn’t love, I am stuck with a man who I couldn’t care less for, and you”—She pointed at Lorian—“will marry Zaahir, unless you abdicate properly and fail your country, like you should’ve done this summer. So yes, I think you’re a child. I think you’re a selfish, immature brat who can’t fight her own battles. If you don’t like it, then change my mind, because you’re doing a damn good job at fucking over your life without my input!”

Lorian didn’t know what happened next. One moment she was by Aida’s bedside. The next, Aida didn’t exist. All that was in her sights was Beatrice, then Beatrice’s shocked face, then Lorian reaching for her neck and squeezing. At that moment, history, whether it was past, present, or future, didn’t matter to her anymore. All that mattered was knocking her own sister’s teeth in.

Lorian slammed her into a royal painting hanging up on the wall. “You’ve never been there for me!” she screamed at her. “Never! What the fuck did it cost you to be there for me? Why couldn’t you be there for me, for once, the  _ one  _ time I needed it?”

“Get off!”

Lorian hit her instead. How dare her? Life was always too easy for her. Do everything Father says, don’t fight, be complacent. She’d been molded to be perfect, and Lorian had been the outcast. She was always the terrible one. And instead of helping Lorian—fuck,  _ talking  _ to Lorian—she’d ignored her like a virus she couldn’t dare touch.

“Lorian!” Zaahir yelled.

Lorian battled Beatrice into the hallway. She punched her, kicked her. She sought after blood, ruin.

“Get off!” Beatrice ducked out of her embrace and shoved her away. Lorian, anticipating her escape, grabbed her puffy sleeve before she reached the stairwell.

She turned too quickly, looking over her shoulder to anticipate Lorian’s fist, but all she must’ve seen was Lorian gritting her teeth in pure rage.

The stairwell, it wasn’t long, but the sudden drop, their bodies slamming into the railing and feet disconnecting from the steps, recontextualized Lorian’s immediate feelings. One, she didn’t want to die in such heated anger. Two, she couldn’t let Beatrice die in such an anticlimactic way. Three, she hated herself more than ever for stooping so low.

At the last second, Lorian pulled Beatrice back and took the full embrace of the fall. Her side hit the ground hard, and her head was spinning even though she didn’t feel herself hit it. Beatrice tripped over her body and ate the ground hard, dress flying up, hair coming undone from her braids. Maybe that was all Lorian wanted, to see her come undone in the same way she’d felt herself becoming this year.

Lorian heaved herself up. The energy she once had dripped off of her like rain on a waxy leave. Apologizing would be the agonizing part, as she couldn’t remember a time when she’d apologized to her and meant it.

Missus and Mi’Sharma ran in, holding back a confused Chrissie and Onti. Zaahir ran down the steps and jumped the last two. “Now—”

Lorian almost missed Beatrice’s nails, but her claws cut into her cheek and drew blood. Her fist yanked down Lorian by her hair and smacked her chin into the floor, shaking her brain against her skull.

“Bea!” Zaahir grabbed her by the arms. “That is  _ enough _ ! Stop it!”

“How  _ dare  _ you?” Wriggling free from Zaahir, Beatrice punched Lorian hard in the chin and pinned her to the ground. “I did  _ everything  _ for you. I fought so hard to keep Father from tearing out Mother’s throat when he was angry with you. I spent hours and hours talking with him to not whip you or punish you, I tried teaching you how to lie and work around his anger, and yet—” She ripped off one glove with her teeth and showed Lorian her whipped hand. “I  _ always _ received the pain he’d meant for you!”

Zaahir used all of his strength to rip Beatrice off. “That is  _ enough _ .”

It wasn’t, not for either of them. “I used to spend night after night with Mother,” Beatrice said, “calming her down, telling her she hadn’t failed as a mother in raising us. What a great liar I’d become.”

Lorian touched the spot where Beatrice had got her on the cheek. Her fingers came back bloody, and wet.

Beatrice sniffled. “The night you left,” she added, “you left out the windows, didn’t you? With a ladder made of bedsheets? Everything was so cleverly packaged for you to leave and gather your thoughts, to leave and never return?”

Lorian blinked back her sister’s tears.

“Who on earth did you think did that for you?” she asked. “Who went out of her way to give you your escape?”

Zaahir, sensing the fight over, pulled Beatrice off of Lorian gently, helping her up without force.

“I thought I was doing you a  _ favor _ ,” Beatrice continued. “I thought this was the only way to make you happy and to give you more time to think about what you were going to do, so why is everything still so wrong? Why is Mother still crying herself to sleep?” She sniffled again. “Why do you still look more unhappy than ever? Why are we still fighting? What else am I doing wrong for you?”

Missus Sharma shuffled over and helped Lorian stand. “Lu—Lorian,” she whispered. “Come now. Sit up.”

Zaahir bowed at a ninety-degree angle to both of the Sharma’s. “I sincerely apologize for this inexcusable behavior. This was in no way how we’d meant to thank you for your kindness in allowing us into your home unannounced, and we deeply apologize for any damages we might’ve caused you and your family.”

Beatrice, after fixing her hair, copied Zaahir’s bow. “I apologize as well.”

Lorian knew they should’ve done the same, but at this point, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if anyone in this room would forgive her for behavior they expected.

Still, though, with Missus Sharma holding them so sternly, it slipped out of her. “I’m sorry.”

“I think we should leave,” Beatrice said.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot leave without my knight,” said Zaahir. “He should be back in a few hours. We’ll take our leave then. We’ll continue staying upstairs, away from anything else that might upset us. Again, please forgive us, Missus and Mi’Sharma. I didn't mean to taint my first introduction to you in this way.”

“Don’t apologize,” Missus Sharma said. “It’s a tumultuous time in all of your lives. Lorian, come with me. Rossa, please make something for His Highness and Her Majesty. Chrissie and Onti, come upstairs with Lorian and me.”

Lorian had little say when it came to what Missus Sharma wanted after a fight. It’d always been like this, her swooping in to pick up the pieces Lorian had left scattered over their feet. It was how she thought a mother would be.

When they were alone in their bedroom, Missus Sharma closed and locked the door behind them. Lorian had just enough time to turn and look to see Aida still asleep.

Missus Sharma forcefully grabbed Lorian’s shoulder. “For God’s sakes, Lucia, what on Earth were you thinking? Your sister is a monarch now, you can’t start petty fights like that anymore and think there won’t be repercussions. You can’t—”

The first tear fell too quickly. She’d tried to stifle them back to preserve her honor, but really, did she have any left? Hadn’t she lost it all the night she left her wedding ceremony, too scared to face her friends and family, her destiny? Her sister had helped her escape, but it was only as a last-ditch effort. She was a lost cause in all of their eyes that would’ve been better off dead.

“Oh, Lorian.” Missus Sharma held like she’d always do, petting the back of her head like a grandmother with her grandchild.

“I’m sorry,” Lorian cried. “I couldn’t…I didn’t…”

“I know, dear. Just sit down and relax.”

“I know I shouldn’t have done it, I was just…I didn’t want to hear the things she was saying. But I know I shouldn’t have resorted to violence. I know I should know better.” She dug her hands into her eyes, not wanting to have this conversation she’d had a million times. “I’m sorry I’m such a lost cause.”

“Oh, dear.” She took her in her arms again. “You’re not a lost cause. Sometimes we act out when we’re feeling scared or helpless, or cornered, and I know that’s how you’ve been feeling all this time.”

“I just don’t want to be a princess,” she said into her shoulder. “I don’t want to marry a man and bear his children. I can’t.”

“I know, dear, I know.” She pulled back and kissed her cheek. “I want you to stay up here and rest, okay? You’ve had a long day, and I don’t want you to do anything you might regret in the morning.”

Lorian bitterly laughed at that. As if her whole life wasn’t something she regretted every morning.

“I should make up a bed for Zaahir and Bea,” Missus Sharma said to herself. “I think you should apologize properly to her, once the waters clear.”

Lorian looked at the door, hyping herself up only to be defeated by her own self-doubts. “I’ll try in the morning.”

* * *

Beatrice left early that morning with Zaahir and Kadar, who’d returned mostly unscathed, just a migraine that made him dizzy.

Allegedly. Lorian had heard it from Mi’Sharma.

Beatrice never came back up to say goodbye.


	24. Two Turtle Doves

As a child, Aida didn’t dream. She had dreams, had them piled up on her desk, written out for when and how she’d achieve them, but she never dreamed while unconscious. She’d tried different methods—falling asleep with a glass of warm milk, listening to the swallows chirp outside her childhood home—but nothing ever came of it. She’d toss and turn from leg pain and then wake up five hours later when it felt like two minutes and a song had gone by.

_ This  _ sleep was different. This sleep was heavy, a dozen blankets smothering her in weight and heat. And she dreamed. She dreamed of crossing forest islands like she was Pinnacle _.  _ She searched for a magical dragon through a thicket of roses and thorns. She found Eve and her daughter locked in a tower in search of a magical key.

What scared her most was that she didn’t want to wake up. She smelled the forest, felt the gritty texture of the medieval palace walls. She was having fun, why would anyone want to come back to the real world? In the real world, she had sisters who beat her with insults, her mother, her terrible reality always pummelling her. Here, she was her own Goddess. Here, she was happy.

And lonely. As she dreamt up new worlds she was centered in, she found that these dreams weren’t as pleasant as she imagined. There was a distance she wasn’t used to, and after looking to her side once or twice, she found someone missing.

_ “Aida.” _

Her head throbbed.

_ “Aida, please wake up.” _

She looked behind her.

A bloody body lay behind her in her past, their thick innards spilling out into the dirt.

They looked up to her with hollowed-out eyes.

_ “Run, Aida.” _

\--

She didn’t bolt awake as women did in poetry. She felt her body fall into a bed, bobbing with the waves. The blankets weren’t as suffocating like before, but she didn’t have the strength to push them off.

A headache welcomed her to the world. She expected nothing less. Her body was a massive bruise that ached with every thought. She couldn’t remember why she felt like she’d been thrown out a window and she also didn’t want to open her eyes and face it head-on.

But her hand was stuck. Trudging through her brain fog, she turned her cheek and cracked open one eye.

Lorian was asleep by her side, sitting on the floor, holding her hand. She had a bandage over her left cheek, a bruised eye socket, and spit forming in the corner of her mouth like a child. Aida wondered if she herself looked any better, given the state of her headache.

“Lorian.” She coughed. Her voice was barely above a whisper and tasted like gravel. It triggered her headache to pulse through her body.

To better get her attention, Aida massaged her thumb over the top of Lorian’s hand.

Lorian’s head lifted before she opened her eyes. Heavy bags drooped her eyes like she’d been awake for days prior. “H-hey.” She took both of her hands. “Hey, you’re awake.”

She hoped? What did that even mean? She racked her brain for any memories of what could’ve happened, but it hurt too much to think.

Why was Lorian crying about her waking up? She tried playing it off like they were sleepy tears, but she hid her face in the crook of her arm to sob. “I’m so happy you woke up.”

“Was I not supposed to?” She fell back into her pillow, sleep just out of reach. If she were to close her eyes, she didn’t think she’d wake up again. “Wha’ happened to you?”

“Don’t move around too much. Just rest.”

“My head hurts.”

Lorian sat up and pushed back Aida’s hair. She was too weak to resist, or she thought she didn’t have to. Hadn’t she just touched someone like this before?

Lorian placed the back of her hand over Aida’s forehead. “Your fever’s down, and your eye’s changed.”

“What’s wrong with my eyes? My glasses…” She blindly reached over to the bedside table.

_ “Aida.” _

Her vision doubled. That name, and how she’d said it. That woman…

Unexpected tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked them back.

“Aida?”

She passed out seconds later.

\--

The next two times she awoke, either her brain wanted her dead, or she was just that tired, falling back asleep after a few turns. Her dreams came back to her, though they were a bit blurrier and harder to make out than before. And she was more acutely aware of her surroundings. When she was in this half-awake, half-asleep state, she heard the creaks of the floorboards from downstairs, two kids playing in the room across the hall. By the smell of freshly cooked sugar bread and spices, she figured she was back at Missus Sharma’s. When she turned and saw the photograph of Missus and Mi’Sharma by the bedside, she realized that much more than her head was aching.

Just like her first trip into the past, her body had been affected.

The memories resurfaced behind her eyelids and dripped down into her conscience. Lorian and their date to the Catacombs. Eve, dying in Lorian’s arms. Eve with Jules, with King Julius II and her affair amongst affairs with them. She’d been right there. Aida had held the queen she knew so well and she’d lost her like the fool she was.

She choked on the tears rolling down her cheek and onto her warm pillow. What an idiot she was. If only she’d acted quicker, she could’ve saved her. The timeline could’ve been changed and she could’ve been here to help. But all Aida had done was sit and stare at her like she was an indescribable piece of artwork.

“Lorian.” She turned for Lorian, but she wasn’t there.  _ “Lorian!” _

Her voice broke in her throat, and she curled up in her bed and cried softly to herself. What was she expecting? That Eve could’ve survived? Half of her stomach had been torn out, she’d been unable to stand up without falling over, begging for Aida’s help.

And she’d known her. Somehow, from the past, Eve had known Aida’s name. And she’d called for her and Aida hadn’t gotten to her in time. Had she even said anything to her? Her one chance to get to know her, to ask her everything she’d ever wanted to know, and she’d squandered it by basking in her dying light.

She cried into her hands. Her mother had been right. She was a failure. Her brain, body, and heart were not right, and one of her biggest role models, the one person she thought might love who she wanted to be, had died because of her ineptitude.

She let herself weep in whoever’s bed she was in until a hand pet back her hair. She didn’t look up to see who it was and only sobbed more at a touch she longed for until she passed out, Lorian’s mournful voice in her ears.

\--

The following day, she was able to sit up. Missus and Mi’Sharma had come in with a wet cloth for her forehead, a change of nightgowns and undergarments, and a bowl of homemade soup filled with chunky pieces of carrot and celery. She tasted the amount of love the women had put into it. It tasted like home.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Mi’Sharma asked.

Aida shook her head but quietly gave them her thanks.

She lay in bed for most of the morning, sinking into her body heat. It got considerably cold that week and even snowed for a few hours. Missus Sharma had come in multiple times with a bag of heated rice to warm Aida’s socked feet.

Chrissie and Onti went up and down the hall as kids did, sometimes stopping by her door and whispering before scampering away. At around noon, she heard a piece of paper slip underneath the door, and she wriggled from her cocoon of blankets to find a drawing of herself and Lorian and their family. They were ringed by blooming flowers and happy rays of sunshine.

Aida scoffed at it and returned to sulking. Then, after a pause, she picked it up and rested it by her lantern, studying what the children thought a happy family was. They must’ve spent a long time on it.

Lorian never came back up. She didn’t know why. She didn’t ask, and she pretended like she wasn’t as lonely as that made her feel. Missus and Mi’Sharma still came up and asked if she was okay. She wasn’t lonely.

She just really, really wanted to be with her. She wanted to hold her and feel her warmth and take her hand and never let it go. Very, very much so, thank you very much.

As the loneliness ate her away and she went to nap away her thoughts, a chirp drilled into her. Even though winter was starting, these animals were stubborn enough to keep by the branches near her windowsill.

She glared through the pane. Two turtle doves, of all things, were sitting in the lemon tree: Old World birds meant to symbolize love.

She threw her feet off the bed, letting them hang. The birds didn’t move.

She pulled herself up onto her feet, swaying a bit, and threw up on the floor. It wasn’t a lot—she couldn’t remember the last time she ate—but it was enough to make her feel sicker than she thought she was. Stumbling over the mess, she brought one of her blankets with her and walked to the window.

“Get out.” She knocked on the glass, then blew on it as if her breath could reach them. “Stop it.”

One fluttered a bit only to perch closer beside its mate.

Aida left the bedroom with her blanket.

Someone was cooking downstairs, maybe a soup, and Lorian kept asking questions about the right number of cucumbers to add and how many potatoes would be right with the broth.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy with anything you cook,” Missus Sharma said. “I’ve never seen you so restive over a task before.”

“I want to make sure it’s right.”

“What a noble thing to do for a sick girl,” Mi’Sharma said.

“A sick  _ friend _ ,” Missus Sharma corrected.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Just a friend?”

Lorian chuckled. “Is it two potatoes or three?”

“Preferably three,” Aida muttered to herself, and walked down the second set of stairs that led to the back doors. She didn’t want to worry them that she was up or that she’d made a mess of herself upstairs. Right now, all she wanted to focus on were these damn birds.

She pulled open the double doors and was careful not to trip on the stairs. She did, but at least she made the effort not to eat it. She only skinned her knee. It took a few minutes for her to lift herself up on her wobbly knees.

The birds looked down at her, mocking her.

“Oh,  _ shut  _ up.” She trudged through the frosty grass. “You’re out here at whatever time of the day it is chirping like you give a damn about people hearing you. You’re birds. You’re flying rats. I’ve survived through so much and don’t need to hear you squawking like you think you’re chickens—You’re  _ worse  _ than chickens, do you know that?” She pointed at them. “You are nothing but noise and easy meals for hungrier birds. Remember that. I mean…I mean…” She began walking around the tree. “Here I am. I put so much energy into the world. Some of it’s good, a lot of it’s shit. But I’m trying, you know?”

“Aida?”

“And yes, I mess up. I know I’m abrasive and rude, and can be selfish when it comes to what I want. Do I wish I could be better? Yes, but to do that, I need my sleep, so shut up and let me rest for a minute!”

“Aida.”

“And stop preening each other. It’s gross.”

_ “Aida.” _

_ “What?”  _ She whipped her head around, got dizzy, and fell against the tree.

Lorian held her up, her chest pressing against her back. “Hey.”

“Hey. I’m falling, so…”

“Okay—Okay.” She walked her to the hammock. “Hang on, I got you.”

As she lay her down horizontally, feet dangling, her eyes began to close. She was back in bed, she needed her sleep.

Lorian, giving the hammock to herself, came around and kept playing with her hair. “Who were you talking to?”

“Those two turtle doves. They kept chirping. I had a few words to give him.”

“Oh.” She smiled in the fake way. “That’s…fine. They say the smartest people talk to themselves to get their excess thoughts out. Sometimes, back at the palace, I’d pace in the clock tower to the beat of the seconds passing by.”

Her head cleared a bit. “You can pace in the palace clock tower? There’s enough room to do that?”

“There is. Sometimes, I’d bring blankets just like this and sleep up there by myself. I loved looking out the glass and seeing my country.  _ The  _ country,” she corrected herself. “It’s not mine.”

“I never knew that. I’ll have to redesign my design of the palace.”

“Do you have it all inscribed in your head? I can draw out the hidden rooms for you.”

Her eyes widened. “You  _ must _ . Let’s do it now. We’ll find some papers.” She went to sit up, then remembered she was dizzy and fell backwards into Lorian’s arms.

“Easy.”

She tried and closed her eyes. “What happened to her? Don’t sugarcoat it. Just tell me straight out.”

Her arms relaxed around Aida’s head. “Zaahir had her body buried. When you jumped, I met with my sister and Zaahir in the Catacombs. I told you all about it when you were somewhat conscious. I don’t know if you heard me.”

“I didn’t. Don’t you hate your sister?”

To answer, she pointed to her busted face. “We got into a little spat.”

“A little spat? It looks like she went for your throat.”

“More or less. That’s how it was in the castle, back when they hid me away. It just never got so extreme. Anyway, after that, Zaahir did most of the work. He’d lied to the queen’s men and said she was a homeless Visatorre who had family in the Catacombs. They buried her in her own niche, surrounded by others. I’m sorry. I tried to help, but…”

Aida looked up at Lorian so hurt for something that obviously wasn’t her fault.  _ Aida _ was the time traveller,  _ she _ should’ve been the one to prevent all of this from happening. “I can’t believe you kept that fucking necklace away from me.” She reached backwards and tried digging her hand into Lorian’s vest.

Lorian’s face went red and she scooted back. “Uh, maybe a different time. My emotions are scrambled right now.”

She pulled back. Even upside down, Lorian looked so much like Jules, with her blond, curly bangs framing her face, her long nose, her tiny freckles. She wondered if Jules had them, too. She wondered if Eve also thought they looked pretty on the person they liked.

Her brain finally connected the pieces. “Ah.”

Lorian hid her head in her shoulders. “Sorry.”

Her head tingled, and it wasn’t from her brain being how it was. This feeling was something different, a self-discovery coming at the absolute worst time. Out of everything wrong to happen in her life, this was by far both a blessing and a curse in terms of timing. Circa just  _ loved  _ to mess with her, didn’t she?

“Before all of this happened,” Aida said, “before I travelled, before Eve, I promised you a thing.”

“You can forget about that. Your health is more important.”

“And you don’t think that’s part of my health? My wellbeing?”

Lorian ran her hand through her own bangs, covering her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I do.” She touched her thigh, bringing her in closer. “I want to experience it. It’s not fair that Circa decided to skip over the development that most girls and boys can play with. Kissing, and everything that comes afterwards. I think frolicking in fields is a part of it.”

“You’re still injured.”

“Yeah, and I feel like I’m high on Nectar.”

“I gave you some when you were sleeping. You were thrashing.”

“Okay, then. So, you’re not going to get this chance again, I’m asking for it, and it seems like you want to kiss me, don’t you? What’s stopping you now?”

She swallowed. “Not that I disagree with any of those points, but I don’t want to ruin what we might have.”

“Lorian, you just caught me talking to birds and you didn’t call me weird.”

“I’d never. Aida, you accept me and listen to me. I’m a problem child and you still like being with me. Do you know how much that means to me?”

She didn’t. And she couldn’t place why. She could never understand why people liked being around her when she herself hated everything about herself. But knowing Lorian liked her in the same way Jules liked Eve, that must’ve meant something.

“You won’t ruin it,” Aida said. “If anything, I’ll ruin it like I ruin everything, so you don’t have to worry.”

“But you don’t—”

“Quit making me wait.” Wrapping two arms around her neck, she pulled Lorian into her. “Take my mind off of this for me, will you?”

Lorian’s breath, which smelled like cake batter and something nice, hit her nose. Aida saw the faintest trace of her eyes before she moved in a different way, tilting her head in closer and closer until their lips touched.

She probably should’ve called it a kiss, but her mind was racing over other nonsensical bits. The way Lorian’s hand curled around her ear, for instance, and how she moved herself onto the hammock to get a better angle for this…interaction. An interaction that made Aida’s heart race, something Lorian must’ve been dreaming of for weeks or even months.

Her hands. Her soft lips. Nobody had ever touched her like this before.

All the poetry and novels she’d read about were wrong.

This was so, so much better.

Taking a breath, Lorian went in for a second kiss, then a third. Sensing she wanted this to keep going, Aida brought up her legs, toes curling around the edge of the hammock, and something between her legs felt incredibly off and definitely new. She reached around her thigh, pulling down the blanket so she wasn’t flashing anyone in the house.

Lorian pulled back. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I think I love you.”

She felt her eyes widened. She thought that was only to be said in the dead of night or a lover’s dying embrace, dramatic with flare. She expected half as much from her future self, but then again, she felt it appropriate that her firsts came to her half-naked, half-dead, yelling at birds outside a grandmother’s home.

She caught herself smiling from how Lorian said that, how Lorian’s smile invited two dimples on her red cheeks and how right it felt to hear that phrase from her lips. Even though snow was gathering around them, Aida felt a new warmth flood her veins with the knowledge she always knew.

“Hey, there she is.” Lorian gently pinched her cheeks. “I’ve been waiting to see that again.”

“See what?”

“Your smile. It looks good on you. And your eyes, too. Did you see that?”

“Not unless I look into a mirror.” Feeling daring, feeling less like herself, she leaned more upwards and kissed somewhere on Lorian’s face. Between her lips and cheek, in an awkward place. She was feeling it today, or she wanted to take her mind off of terrible truths.

Lorian covered her mouth in embarrassment. “My goodness.”

“Pushover.”

“What do you want from me? I’m sensitive.”

How long have you been wanting that. A kiss?”

Carefully, Lorian sat with her on the hammock. Her weight pulled Aida into her gravity, slipping her into her lap. Her long legs stretched out around her thighs. “You really want to put me through a swell of emotions, huh?”

“I wouldn’t expect any less from me. I can see my future self being like that to you, so I guess I should start early.”

“You now think she’s you, huh?”

“Enough. Give me a timeline.”

“Honestly, it was in the library.”

“Ah, the  _ one _ time I was in the library.”

She giggled. “It was the week school started. I was making my rounds, surveying the campus, when I saw you at the end of one of the aisles. You had about fifty books stacked around you. I thought it odd, you studying so intently when classes had just started. I was going to ask what you were doing when you suddenly smiled down at whatever you were writing. Let me tell you, it was one of the cutest little smiles I’d ever seen, and it stayed on you even when you turned the page. That’s when I tried grabbing your attention, wondering if you’d ever give me the pleasure of seeing you smile at me like that.”

Just to tease her, Aida made a point to not smile and instead pouted like she was angry. It had little success and made Lorian blush. “I was probably reading about Eve, I’m not going to lie. The first month I was there, I tried learning everything I could from that damn library. I must’ve read every history book there.”

“Twice.”

“About as much.”

Lorian went to touch her face again, but before she did, Aida snatched her fingers and squeezed them. “You’re going to give me more acne than I already have.”

“Sorry. With you giving me permission and all, I feel like I need to try everything I’ve ever wanted with you. You’re a very beautiful girl, Aida.”

“And I suppose you, too, are quite a pretty girl.”

Lorian opened her eyes a bit wider, processing that, then smiled and dropped her forehead onto hers.

This time, Aida didn’t think to run away.


	25. Chapter 25: Talk With Yourself

Aside from helping with grocery runs and exercising their horses so they didn’t go stir crazy, for most of the next month, they stayed indoors. They didn’t plan any heist to infiltrate the palace, they didn’t go back to Eve. Zaahir had sent her a hawk detailing the events of Eve’s burial. He’d got permission from Carmine to bury her, and he’d hosted a vigil and a peaceful burial. Lorian thought about responding to thank him for doing this, but it felt unwise, and she knew he must’ve known she couldn’t respond. She wrote a letter regardless and watched it burn in the fireplace.

Aida recovered as winter rolled into Roma. After their hammock kiss, her fever returned and she became bedridden for most of November. They'd finally returned to their Nest of couches, giving Missus and Mi’Sharma their bed back. She also had to skip meals at the dinner table because of this, so Lorian ate with her, keeping her distance from Aida’s runny nose.

“It’s because I always get sick during the winter months,” Aida said, sniffling. “It’s not because of my jump.”

“Yes, yes.” Lorian wrung out a rag and placed it over her forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better than ever. Can we go back to the Catacombs now?”

“How about you learn to keep your food down before we plan any more illegal trespassing?”

“I just won’t eat, then. Problem solved.”

Lorian licked her lips before leaning over and kissing the rag over Aida’s head. “No one in this house will let you go to bed hungry. Come now.” She blew on her spoon before hand-feeding her.

“Am I a baby bird?” she asked, but took the bite regardless. “It’s good.”

Lorian beamed with approval. Missus Sharma had taught her well.

“I’m still surprised you know how to cook, being a princess and all.”

Lorian lowered the serving tray until it almost tipped over the couch. Then she faked a smile and prepped her eating station. “I picked it up easily.”

\--

The next day, Lorian woke up early and cleaned the first floor before Missus and Mi’Sharma awoke. When they slogged down the steps in their nightgowns, they jumped to see someone already in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Lorian,” Missus Sharma said, and fixed her glasses to see Lorian’s handiwork. Eggs in different varieties, perfectly crisped toast, orange juice with hints of sugar on the cup bottoms. “What a lovely spread.”

“I hope I made it to your liking.” She pushed out her seat for her. “Would you like any milk? Any coffee?”

“No, dear. Thank you.”

“Did something happen to make you so jolly?” Mi’Sharma asked.

Lorian rolled on her heels. While taking care of Aida was everything she dreamed of…

_ “And I suppose you, too, are quite a pretty girl.” _

She cleaned off her hands and washed them in the sink.

_ “Being a princess and all.” _

“I'm just happy to see Aida recovering so swiftly,” Lorian said.

“You said she went back into the past with that Eve person,” Missus Sharma said.

“How is she doing this?” Mi’Sharma peered into the living room. “Her poor soul, I can’t imagine her living through this. And to catch a cold as well. I hope she’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure she will.” Lorian dried off her hands. “I wanted to ask if you minded if I took a walk.”

“A walk?” Missus Sharma asked, already worried.

“Just a walk in the woods. With all that’s been going on, I wanted to clear my head. You know I’ve never been one to stay inside for very long.”

“Well, I can’t bar you from doing so, but do be careful, Lorian. I worry so much about you being found out or taken away from me again.”

Lorian was already putting on her coat and boots. She'd tailored her hood so it covered both her mouth and most of her forehead, concealing her identity better. “I'll be sure to be the most careful.”

She hated to lie, especially to Missus Sharma. It was tied to her past, as she never wanted to show her true self to her parents, so she flaunted her fake persona as much as possible. To them, to her maids, to Missus Sharma, the first person she’d told. Then she realized that she needed to lie in order to save herself from a beating and a stern, three-hour yelling match behind closed doors. Her gender and sexuality was something she always had to hide, and she never felt worse about it than now.

She most certainly didn’t have to lie about this to Aida, but as she passed by Missus Sharma’s garden and beelined for the forest with no intention of just “taking a walk,” Lorian felt a pang of guilt.

_ “And I suppose you, too, are quite a pretty girl.” _

She was born a girl, a  _ princess  _ meant to birth heirs and be married off to men. Surely, she should’ve felt at least a little bit feminine. She liked girls, both romantically and the idea of them, and she didn’t hate her body too much when she looked at herself in tight-fitting clothes. And dresses were fine. They were pretty. Cute.

It was just that there was something  _ more  _ inside of her, something more than just a girl and just a boy that she didn't have the words for. She knew some ancient gods were like this, featuring both male and female attributes. Sometimes their names changed depending on the culture. She wished Aida never knew about her past, that she could reinvent herself based on her own terms.

Lorian had noticed something, the day she met her future self. Future Aida, while holding Lorian’s hand, called them a “they.” No she. No he. They.

She fixed her vest over her chest, admired the size of her shoes and contrasted it with Aida’s size five heels. She didn’t hate being a girl. She didn’t despise it.

She just wanted more from the label.

She wanted more.

She crept down the busier street corner and slipped her way into the little bookstore on the corner overlooking the sea. It was emptier than before; not even the clerk was readily available, but she didn’t need him quite yet. With her pouch of Lyria, she had all she needed by the windows.

The one good thing about being a royal heir: when you quietly abdicated, you had a wealth of coins to spend on your loved ones.

She searched for the colorful box set of  _ Pinnacle Isle _ . It came with hand-painted covers and box art of Red Dragon and the Goddess. With how much energy Aida put into it, you would’ve thought she owned the entire sextology, but she only had the first book. It was weathered, the spine cracked in several places. You could hardly read the author’s name on her copy.

She picked up the box set and went to pay for it.

Someone knocked on the glass door and startled her.

She glanced up at her own reflection. She was staring at herself, her older self, the one that was somehow taller than her even though they should’ve been the same height.

Lorian jumped back and covered her own mouth.

Future Lorian gave her a “sorry” smile and motioned for her to come outside.

Lorian looked between them and the box set, then groaned and went to the front desk.

A minute later, she came out with her new purchase and a pit in her stomach. She’d only spoken to this person once, but their presence usually signaled chaos and bad news, and she’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

Future Lorian was waiting by the side of the bookshop, near a discarded barrel filled halfway with snow.

Lorian approached them carefully. It was so odd, seeing someone with your face, but slightly altered. She’d almost go so far to say that this person wasn’t her, but those awkward mannerisms, the smile, the hair, they could be no other person.

“Hi,” they said.

“…Hello,” Lorian said.

“I apologize. This must be very awkward for you.”

“Being that you’re a wanted criminal, I’d be awkward walking the streets, too.”

“I’d agree. Luckily, that sense of vigilance goes away soon. It gets replaced with anxiety. More anxiety than you have currently, of course.” They sighed with a smile. “It’s odd, seeing you like this.”

“Wouldn’t you remember this happening?” Lorian asked, somewhat cornering herself to answer. “Since you’re me? Or are you not? Are you just a trickster god playing with us?”

Future Lorian gave her an incredulous look, then chuckled. “Ah. I forgot this was a debate you had about us.”

“Where is she?” Lorian asked. “Future Aida?”

Future Lorian looked down the alleyway. It led to a small ledge that overlooked the deeper part of the city. Somewhere, a man yelled and a woman laughed at her triumphs at making his life a little harder. Then the two of them, Future Aida and Carmine, came dashing through the streets. They were far enough that neither Lorian had to fret about being seen. In fact, it gave them a comical front row seat to Future Aida’s antics.

She was ahead of Carmine, but just barely. Carmine had his arms put to capture her, and just when he went to touch her, she jumped behind him, then pushed him. As he went to fall, she caught him, danced around him, and continued their game of cat and mouse in the opposite direction. Carmine roared, actually roared in irritation, and threw his hat on the ground before continuing the chase.

“What’s her goal by doing this?” Lorian asked.

“She likes teasing him. It’s quite humorous to watch him come out of his shell.”

“‘No, I meant why can’t you just tell us what we need to do? Her doing this is just making us stay cooped inside longer.”

Future Lorian rolled on their heels. “Then perhaps, maybe, you need to keep leaving the house despite the rules forbidding you from doing such a thing. It’s something you two have experience with, is it not?”

Lorian didn’t disagree but said, “We saw Eve die. She died in my arms. What is there left to find? What else do we need to be searching for?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Ruin the—?” That anger Lorian had been suppressing since meeting with her sister resurfaced. “What can  _ possibly  _ make this  _ more _ entertaining? Aren’t you me? Don’t you remember her dying in our arms?”

Her face fell. “I do. Aida made sure to be there when it happened. We wanted to see it happen again.”

“You’re insane.”

“We’re really not.”

“Then  _ help _ us!”

“I  _ am _ .” Future Lorian got closer to her. “Listen,” they whispered. “I know you’re stressed out. You don’t know what’s going to happen next and the future seems all sorts of frightful to you. But understand this: It. Will. Be. Okay. You’re going to figure out what you need to do on your own terms and you’ll know what path you need to take. And you have Aida, so you already know that you’re going to be alright, don’t you?”

“I don’t know anymore,” she said. “She hasn’t been doing very well.”

“Are any of us? You just bought her that box set, so you should be going through a lot of emotional duress right now. You’re trying to find a way to tell her that you’re more than a woman, right?”

Lorian wondered if she should’ve bothered lying to themselves.

“Tell her, Lorian. What’s there to be afraid of? Do you think she’d ever be upset or angry about something like that? You know she’s a good person and she’s smart. She’ll understand every and all parts of you, so don’t be so afraid. The anxiety will still be there, but you don’t have to let it dictate how you live. Just be smart about those choices,” they added. “Sometimes Aida gets a little over her head. It’s hard to rein her in.”

At least that was one thing they agreed on. “How’d you tell her? Does it go well?”

“What do you think, Lorian? I know we’re not a Visatorre, but we know how time travel works by now, don’t we?”

“Not really, no. It seems like a crazed fool is playing with the timeline to suit their needs.”

“See? You know more than you think you know.”

A distant jump crackled the air, and Future Lorian turned to meet it. “I hope you don’t hate me too much for that,” they said as they left. “If I could, I’d tell you all that I can.”

“It’ll ‘spoil the fun’, wouldn’t it?” Lorian mocked with hand quotes.

“Too right, it would.” Before leaving the shadows, Future Lorian paused and turned the corner.

There, as if waiting for them, was a Visatorre child of barely six dressed in rags. Future Lorian waved at her, knelt to her level, and handed her a handful of coins that shimmered in gold. The child’s eyes widened at the miracle and double-checked that it was okay to have before thanking them and scurrying off with their new meals, clothes, and whatever else she could buy.

Lorian examined her own coin purse and how full it still was even after buying the box set. How many lives could she have changed between now and her future self? If she hadn’t left the palace, what could she’ve done for all Visatorre people?

Before she had time to think, she heard the voice of two officers, and she went to warn Future Lorian.

But they were already gone.

\--

When Lorian came back, she found Missus and Mi’Sharma still in the kitchen, cleaning up their plates and talking about going shopping. Lorian quickly hid her paper bag around her back.

“There you are,” Missus Sharma said. “Where did you go? I looked outside and couldn’t find you.”

“I was in the forest, just like I said. I’m sorry I worried you.” She trotted into the living room. “I’ll stay closer to the house next time!”

Aida was still curled up in their Nest but sitting the wrong way, holding a book up with her chest. She gave Lorian a wave without looking up. “Hi. Where’d you go?”

“Out into the forest.”

“And where after that?”

Lorian held up her tote.

That got her to look up. “I hope it was for a good reason. Please tell me you bought a book retelling the history of Visatorre slavery at the end of the Classical Era, because I’m trying to figure out how many of us were enslaved and how many were free people. Three of these books say it was about thirty-seventy, which I thought was propaganda, but from what I saw with Eve and King Julius, it seems like a lot of us were just normal serfs, same as everybody else. It’s weird. It’s like we’re living in two different timelines.”

Lorian squatted beside the couch and handed her the bag.

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes and smell it.”

She gave her a strange look but trusted her enough to follow the instructions and sniffed.

Her hands moved quicker than her eyes. In seconds, she had ripped open the bag and yanked out the heavy set of books. “Did you really? Is this about the history of Roman monarchical—”

She lifted the box set onto her lap, taking in the illustrated dragon painted over the cover.

She flipped it around and thumbed down the line of six books, each book growing in page numbers. The last book had almost twice as many pages as the first.

“You've been sick for so long, I wanted to surprise you with something other than Eve or my family’s history covered in bloodshed.”

Aida opened up the second book and fanned the pages close to her nose, taking in its scent. “How’d you pay for this? Did you steal it?”

“I used my own gold to buy it, but I did steal it from my own vault at the palace, so in a sense, yes.”

She smirked but still looked incredulously at her gift. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“That it was my birthday yesterday.”

“What? It was your birthday? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I usually despise it. My mother would never celebrate it as grandly as she did with my two sisters. After a while, it was too painful to deal with, so I stopped dealing with it. Over time, they stopped congratulating me on being born.”

Lorian got up closer and pet back Aida’s flyaways. “I appreciate that you were born. I appreciate that I found you, that we found each other, and I thank Circa every day for having you in my life.”

Aida smiled up at her with hurt in her eyes. Hurt and love and comfort knowing that she now had someone who cared for her life.

Lorian poked her side. “Just don’t breeze through those books in one night.”

“I won’t. I’ll finish it in two.” She flipped through the first chapter, pretending that there was a sparkle in her newly changed eye. She smudged it away with the back of her hand. “Do you mind if I talk about it?”

“I’d be honored.”

She crossed her legs, manually adjusting the bad one so it stayed. Her idle fingers then rapped over the blankets she’d been living in that month.

She turned away before patting the empty space next to her. “Hop in, then.”

Lorian waited to hear more of an explanation for such an odd request from Aida of all people. It was true that they’d technically slept together before they'd even kissed, but she didn’t expect this from her.

But she sure wasn’t going to waste the opportunity she’d dreamed about for weeks now.

She got in carefully, making herself tiny so Aida didn’t have to move from her warm spot. Aida brought the blanket around them and snuggled up quite closely to Lorian. She almost spooned Lorian, for Circa’s sake, but instead held her book just above the pillows, like this was all very normal.

“So, where was I?” she said, not looking up at Lorian. “Ah. So, Pinnacle had a best friend named Ivory, did you know that? She’s a bit of a foil to Pinnacle that you meet later in book three who they cut from the opera adaptation, but they could’ve at least cast a nod of appreciation to the book fans. Oh! Can I tell you my hypothesis on Red Dragon and her eye color? Trust me, it’ll make sense.”

Lorian carefully brought her hidden hand and drew circles over Aida’s shoulder. “I’m listening.”

“Excuse me.” Missus Sharma waddled into the room. “Before anything happens, may I intrude?”

Aida and Lorian looked up.

“Did I hear that it was some lucky girl’s birthday this week?”

\--

They didn't have any readily available presents, but both Missus and Mi’Sharma promised Aida ten year’s worth of presents come next year. In exchange, they made her a strawberry cake full of frozen strawberries and white icing. Onto and Chrissie woke up to the best breakfast ever and wished Aida a belated happy birthday with their mouths stuffed with 9 AM cake.

With their bellies full of cake, Lorian listened to two hours of vivid and passionate explanations about the world of  _ Pinnacle Isle  _ from someone who’d somehow memorized the entire lore to the story she loved. She read all of it off from a journal she now had, a series bible she'd created since being at Missus Sharma’s. Back before, she was able to tell Lorian all of this from her own mind. Lorian didn't mention that; Aida was having too much fun.

She relearned about how Aida visualized the Goddess, how Red Dragon’s babies are a direct reflection of the author’s own children. She rocked when she got excited and started shivering with excitement when she reached her favorite fan theories. Lorian wished this author would write more books just so Aida could be happy.

“What do you think?” Aida asked, biting into a juicy strawberry. “Do you think Pinnacle has dark hair or blond hair? This’s very important.”

“Isn’t it blond? It was blond in the play.”

“Wrong! The author specifically…” She double-checked her notes. “In book one, it specifically states that he has dark hair that appears cobalt near the sea, but the stage adaption gave the actor Finneus Craw sandy brown hair, so between book three and four, he changed it to blond to appease the new readers.”

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Lorian said sarcastically. “How dare he.”

“I _know_!” Aida said seriously. “I spent three years reading Pinnacle with black hair! He said it wasn’t important to the story, but _fuck_ that. I need visuals. If you’re not going to write out your character’s hair color, eye color, and skin tone, what’s the point of writing a book?”

“I completely agree with you. You should write your own version of the book.”

“I have! Thirty pages of it.” She blew out her cheeks. “I love these books. I love this boy so much.”

“I know you do.”

“Thank you for buying this for me. You didn't have to, but I appreciate it more than you know.”

“I figured you'd enjoy it a tad.” She laced her fingers in her lap. Throughout Aida’s explanations, Lorian had been trying to figure out how to ask her a very important question.

_ “And I suppose you, too, are quite a pretty girl.” _

She waited to see if Aida had anything more to say. She had, she knew she would, but Lorian took her chance before she caught her breath. “Hey, Aida.”

She looked up.

“Can you call me a boy for a little while?”

Immediately, she cringed. That wasn’t at all how she wanted to ask that.  _ “Call me a boy?”  _ Who said it like that? She’d been trained to give speeches and addresses and dictate herself properly. What had become of her?

Aida stared at her—at him—all the joy stripped from her face. “Yeah,” she said. “Did something happen?”

“No. Just want to try some things out.”

“Okay. Anything else you want me to do?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Alright, then.” She reopened the first page of her book, staring at nothing. Then she slammed it shut. “Did I tell you about the alleged leaks that came out during the writing of book four when we found out that the Goddess actually has a mortal brother because it seriously keeps me up at night and I’ve been dying to tell somebody about it.”

Lorian just laughed and readied himself for another tangent.


	26. Good Deeds

When Aida  awoke that morning , she was  feeling as if the whole  fall season had been a dream. Life flowed back into her bones and she kept down her food like she wasn’t on death’s door. Her head still contained the fog she couldn’t quite shake and she continued having trouble concentrating. It helped that she had more books to read.

Nobody had ever given her such a thoughtful gift before. During  harvest f estivals and New Years, her mother would buy her one or two random  murder -mysteries or romances, two genres she had no interest in reading. Lorian, who she’d only known for a season, had easily broken through her barriers and given her something she truly needed at her worst. And he hadn’t even asked. He’d just known.

She touched her lips as she read. She’d wanted to get in a few chapters to sharpen her brain before breakfast, but he kept coming to mind. What he’d  asked of her—how he wanted to go by he/him for the time being—and the way he’d kissed her. These actions—trusting her and loving her, giving her gifts because he could—had serious implications, didn’t they? It made them more than partners in time travelling crime. She’d been unknowingly swaying her hips, hearing the beat yet not knowing how to join the dance.

She did like him, she just didn’t know if her heart was big enough to take on his. He loved so earnestly and loudly with his touches and pecks. How could she compete?

They’d date, right? She’d kissed him and tasted that vanilla always clinging to his person. She remembered his hands delicately caressing the sides of her face, like he was afraid she might break, and how he’d cared  for her in  their Nest .

She closed Pinnacle Isle. She’d been lying on her back, so she turned to her belly and brought up her knees to alleviate some of the pressure from her lower back. Her mother’s marriage had been dismal. Marriages around her growing up were dismal and ended dismally. She didn’t want to put her everything into someone knowing it was just going to fuck her over in the end. She refused to mess up anyone else’s life.

_ “Lorian loves you,”  _ a voice in her head said.

“Shut up,” Aida said to herself, and got ready for the day.

“What was that?” Lorian, who’d been sitting just across the room for her, put down his book. He was halfway through the second book of the series, right when Pinnacle should’ve lost Yellow and Blue in a snowstorm. He looked more than stressed. He was definitely at the right part.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Alright. Also, Aida, does Red Dragon die?”

She arched a brow. Should she  ruin the surprise? While the opera did wonders for the story, Red Dragon was but a background prop of the overall plot. In the series, she had six books to shine but was only on five of the book covers.

She left for the bathroom, smirking to  herself, and admired how strange her new two  white irises looked on her. She’d been avoiding her mirror image and hated seeing her  rat’s nest of curls in the morning, but ever since Lorian made her feel a little more wanted, she’d been spending more time in here.

“Aida.” Lorian almost dropped the book. “Aida, you come back here. She just survived a giant onslaught of horned wolves—she’ll survive, won’t she?”

After cleaning up, Aida made herself a bowl of porridge. Onti was sitting by himself at the kitchen table with his own breakfast. It was rare  to see one rambunctious child without the  other close by . As Aida made a cup of coffee, she looked around to see where the little girl was so early in the morning.

Onti sniffled into his piece of burnt  toast.

Aida’s jaw dropped. “ Did Chrissie jump?”

Onti scowled into his meal and turned away.

Lorian came in with his book bookmarked. “She left a few hours ago. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. We’ll have to bake her something delicious when she comes back.”

Onti pushed his food away and crossed his arms. Bundled up in-between his fingers was a red ribbon Chrissie often wore in her hair. “It’s not fair,” he mumbled into the nook of his elbow. “It’s not fair this only happens to us. I hate being Visatorre.”

“Don’t say that,” Lorian said. “It’s what makes a big part of you.”

“And I hate it. If I could, I’d rip it out of me so I could be normal like you.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m not in any way normal.”

“Yes, you are,” he said. He sounded more irritated than sad now. “You’re pretty, you’re smart, you don’t hurt all over. You’re royalty, so you’re rich, aren’t you? You get to travel the world and do really cool things with other people just like you. Visatorre don’t get those types of things. So, you’re normal. We’re not. We’re freaks.”

Lorian’s lighthearted smile fell off of his face. He looked away, ashamed for suggesting his differences could’ve been compared to theirs.

Aida opened her mouth to make both of them feel better, but there was nothing to make them feel better about. Being a Visatorre was, in all honesty, a terrible thing to be during this time, and nobody could’ve possibly had it worse than they did.

She’d thought. Up until college, she believed this little circle marking her skin only meant misery. That she was an unwanted mistake that would forever be in pain and outcast by everyone around her. It’d been her truth every day since she’d woken up.

But now, things were  changing . She had this future to look forwards to, this woman who smiled despite her pain, who could laugh and hold hands publically with someone who Aida was getting to  know better . It made her think about a future. 

It kind of sickened her how optimistic and hopeful that made her feel. Since when had she ever been hopeful? Since her Durante Academy acceptance letter? Had she even smiled when she’d received it, or was it just a reminder of how much harder she needed to now work?

Aida took the seat across from Onti. “Being a Visatorre sometimes sucks hard. Look at me. I was bedridden because of it. I have to use a cane to walk around, all because we go back in time for an hour  or two.”

“How come it happens?” he asked her. “Why is it only us?”

“Because we’re made of Gods. Circa and the rest are able to bend time and shape mountains for fun. They created stars and planets and all the pretty colors we see at sunsets, they created every single tangible—touchable—thing in existence. To have even an ounce of their powers inside of us, there has to be a trade off.”

“But why?”

“Because Circa gave us the power to travel back in time so we don’t repeat the past. We hurt, but it’s to better the world we’ve been given. We’ve seen evil things happen in the past, as I’m sure you’ve stumbled into one or two few scenes that you wish you didn’t.”

He nodded. Aida wasn’t used to this much eye contact with this one. Suddenly, after acknowledging that they were more similar than not, he seemed more interested in her. She wondered if he’d seen her in this way before this talk. Aida wasn’t used to little kids, just old sisters who wanted her  smudged out of  the picture . She hoped she didn’t come across this way to Onti.

She stood up a little taller. “So we need to remember that. We need to see the errors of the past and try our hardest not to see them repeated in the present.”

“But I don’t want to hurt anymore,” he said. “I don’t want my headaches.”

“I know. I don’t want my inner pain, either, and if I could, I’d take on the burdens you bear in a heartbeat. But think. My future self, have you heard about her? The girl parading around in the streets, causing a fuss to the villages and making the Constable crazy?”

He nodded. “It’s the person that scary man was looking for. I don’t really get it, but she’s like you, isn’t  she, but grown up ?”

“Yes. She’s learned how to jump without being hurt. She looks like a rabbit, hopping around from moment to moment. I swear, when I get to be her age and she becomes me and I figure out how to do it, I’ll tell you how to jump without getting hurt. I’ll tell everyone, and I’ll…I’ll make a better world for you. I promise.”

Onti blinked, his hazel eyes swimming with nervous hope at the declaration.

Aida was panting, her own brain rationalizing the promised she’d just made. In her future, she saw herself opening up a bookstore with her historian license. She’d wanted a space for people to learn more about a history that’d been scrubbed from the textbooks. Now, she wondered if that was too small of a goal. She was Aida Mirko, destined to fuck over the world by the time she was thirty. If she wanted to, she could’ve become a queen if she desired.

She looked at Lorian. Technically, if the two of them made out of this  together, if he finally talked with his family about what to do…

Onti ate a bite of his porridge. “If this girl’s you,” he said, “and she can travel backwards and forwards, how come she hasn’t told you how to do it yet? If she has clues you’re trying to figure out, shouldn’t she have told you them already?”

“I guess she’s just a—” She stopped herself before the curse left her lips. “Complex woman,” she finished with.

“We’ll figure this out,” Lorian said confidently. “I’m sure of it.”

Just then, a spark of energy zapped in the  upstairs  bathroom, and Onti gasped and scurried out of his seat to reunite with his best friend. “Chrissie!”

“Onti!”

Aida checked upstairs to see Chrissie upright and in one piece, holding her arm in pain but otherwise okay. Onti hugged her, hiding his tears with laughter.

Mi’Sharma , who’d been tending to the chicken coop, came in. “Oh, that’s good.” She read the grandfather clock. “Only forty-five minutes, Chrissie. That’s good.”

Aida checked the clock herself. Lorian had told her that, when she’d jumped during Eve’s death, she’d been gone four hours, almost double her normal jump time. And even then, two hours in the past, while not uncommon, have been her normal for nearly ten years. Her past chided her in that way, always reminding her that her life would be hard.

No. What had she just told Onti, and what did she believe? That being a Visatorre might’ve been painful, but it showed you a world outside of yourself, something nobody else could see, and that you shouldn’t be upset by how you were born.

And  that type of self-reflection needed to start from the ground up.

“Mi’Sharma?” Aida asked. “Are there any community shelters nearby we can visit?”

“What type of shelters?” she asked.

“Shelters for the homeless, specifically ones that don’t shun Visatorre from their doors. I heard this year’s harvest will be plentiful. We should take advantage of that.”

“Did you want to do volunteer work?”

“Of sorts.” She nudged Lorian. “You still have your Lyria, right? All 12 billion coins of it?”

“A little less than that, but yes.”

“Good, ’cause we’re gonna drain your bank account dry.”

;;

She nixed the meats and a lot of the eggs that they could’ve brought to families in need. This harvest had been good from what she saw at the markets, but the meat was still at exuberant prices. She figured half a kilogram of meat versus a kilogram of rice would’ve done a family better, and she kept that in mind during her shopping trips.

Discreet shopping trips. Hooded cloak and everything. Some people cast glances, but with her covered face, limp, and cane, nobody called the nearest officer or Constable on this old lady in a cloak that smelled like moth balls.

Lorian, like she thought, didn’t object to helping the needy, but she was surprised to see him so enthused about it. He didn’t argue with her or tell her how dangerous this could’ve been. It wasn’t like the Constable had ceased searching for them, but their wanted posters had faded. She saw that a lot of them had been ripped, hiding their faces in torn, yellowed papers.

Missus and Mi’Sharma, Chrissie, and Onti were just as excited to go out on this wintery morning to help feed the shelters. Their carriage was just able to fit all of them, so their food was secured on a wagon Lorian had helped attach to the back. Onti insisted that he ride in the back, which prompted Chrissie to tag along. To keep either of them from jumping out and hitting their heads, Lorian sat with them and their bags of rice, breads, beans, and jams. Aida stayed inside the carriage, feeling like she was a more recognizable  target on these quiet streets thanks  to her boisterous future self. She kept looking back, however, to make sure Lorian was okay as he told jokes to the youngsters.

“This’s a very noble thing for you to do,” Missus Sharma told her as  s he steered the horses into town.

“Aye, it’s very nice,” added Mi’Sharma, “though we shouldn’t stay very long. I don’t want anyone giving you trouble.”

“They’re not monsters,” Aida reminded her.

“Oh, I’m not talking about the people in the shelter, dear, I’m talking about the people running it. They normally have an officer or two around, making sure no fights or arguments come about. And when they get large donations like what you’ve put together, some people might get…riled. I’ve seen it back when we adopted little Chrissie and Onti. Many of the people there are very nice. Just be careful for anyone looking at you like a meal and not a person offering them something.”

_ That  _ soured her mood. She wasn’t naive about pinching Lyria to stay afloat, but she’d never been truly homeless. She  _ had  _ run away from home, but it was just to Durante Academy, and then to Missus Sharma’s cottage. She had fought in her life, just not for a plate of food or a warm bath or a bed shared with her  lover.

The shelter was a spacious building off in the eastern corner of Roma City, far away from the palace. There were no impressive structures or sightseeing pavilions here, but Aida still regarded it as an important part of Roman society.

They entered through the back door, where an older couple welcomed them and their donations. When they saw that everything in the carriage was for their establishment, the woman almost fainted in her husband’s arms.

“All of this, for us?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

“We wish to help in any way we can,” Lorian said.

“Are you  sure? We don’t wish to impose.”

“You’re not imposing at all,” Lorian said, and held the door for them for the wagon.

The woman, who was almost as short as Aida, blushed and turned away from Lorian’s kindness. “My, what a  polite, young man .”

Lorian beamed  brightly at that.

The fires they had going were more than enough to keep the place warm, but the dozens of people sitting at the tables and in the corners of the room kept the shelter boiling. They sat as families or as companions. Children and mothers, lovers cuddling one another  with a shared plate of buttered bread. The windows were iced over, but the candles were lit and gave everyone enough needed light for the morning breakfast.

Aida, Lorian, Chrissie, and Onti stayed in the back as the volunteers helped organize their wagon of non-perishables. They each wore a white cloth around their face to keep from breathing on the food, so Aida and Lorian grabbed two to better hide their faces. They should’ve stayed back as they were doing, but Aida kept stealing glances into the main floor. There were Visatorre who couldn’t walk, children who acted and survived more like aging elders. One had a missing eye plucked straight from their eye socket, leaving a dark hole in their face. Another had a crook in their neck that kept them twitching  as if a bug  were in their ear. They each thanked the volunteers for a warm meal. Mi’Sharma started crying.

She wanted to do more to help. What good was she like this, hiding in the shadows? She was a little head-fuzzy and  technically a criminal according to the law, but something inside of her told her to do more for the Visatorre people. She felt it in her bones, her broken, hurting bones.

She leaned over the counter. Out of everyone sitting or standing near the tables, one person caught her eye. She was on the floor, near the fireplace to keep warm. She was dressed only in a thin, white sheet that hid her face.

Aida squinted at her. She looked familiar though she couldn’t place  it.

Chrissie  tugged on Lorian’s sleeve . He knelt down  and let her whisper into  his ear, to which he laughed and  corrected her on an assumption she’d just made.

Stealing a moment, Aida crept out to the main floor.

“Aida?”

She beelined for the  cloaked woman . An itch she couldn’t wait to scratch grew stronger as she came in closer to the woman’s circle.

“Excuse me,” she asked, “are you okay?”

The woman didn’t move. She had perfect, dark skin and long, healthy limbs. She looked  radiant , glowing, even. Aida couldn’t turn away.

P hysically, she couldn’t.  She’d been drawn to  this woman like she’d been drawn to Eve or  knowledge, but her feet wouldn’t  move. Her eyes wouldn’t  even  blink  as they began watering uncontrollably.

She started breathing heavily. Never had she not been in control of her body. Had she been drugged? Had someone placed a curse on her? Why was she scared stiff, and why was she trembling?

Aida looked only with her eyes at where she’d last left Lorian. Her head was fixed in place to face the faceless woman.

The woman’s cloth fell from her head, revealing long, white braids that were hidden down her back.  She towered over seven feet tall and had a face that was perfectly shaped without a single flaw, at once youthful and wise in age, round and long, human and something not-so-human. She was divine like that, like someone who shouldn’t have existed in this realm.

And she was smiling. Wildly, wickedly, reaching from ear to ear but not her eyes. They were wide and unblinking, bright blue like the sky, with white pupils like her future self, like Eve.

Aida’s body  seized as her vision exploded into stars .  H er world burst into color and sights and  sounds she’d never  experienced before, like she was discovering a new medium of art unexplored by the past .  She heard a buzzing and then a loud explosion  of white noise , but her head felt a hundred times heavier with an influx of thoughts and feelings. She couldn’t make out where it was originating.

She fought through it. This wasn’t at all like her jump in the ruins, where she felt lightheaded and untethered from the earth. She’d blamed it on seeing Eve, but this was different.

She looked up. The room had been completely undone. The empty chairs had been tossed against the wall, the candles had been snuffed out. Lorian was in the middle of the room with a ladle in hand, confused. Chrissie and Onti were staring at her in horror.

A black circle of ash surrounded Aida’s trembling figure, the same stain Eve had left from her final jump.

“Aida!”

The tingling rushed her in one powerful blow, making her stagger around in the circle. She tried to voice her concern, but she couldn’t find it. She couldn’t think.

When Lorian rushed to steady her, she did what  came naturally and grabbed his sleeve. She fell back as he fell forwards, her vision blotted out, and she travelled somewhere into  time with his hand in hers.


	27. Second Chances

Aida fell into somebody’s arms, strong and locked, keeping her from hitting the ground for the very first time.

Lorian tumbled beside her on a vacant, dark, dirt road. They were somewhere just outside of Roma City—she just felt it, she knew—but her thoughts were flowing out of her head too rapidly like she’d left the faucet on. She couldn’t think properly, or at all. She searched for the homeless shelter they’d just been in.

“Aida—Aida.” Lorian scrambled to find her hand and squeezed it hard. His eyes were as wide as the full Moon behind them.

Aida sat up with his help. They were together and both fully clothed but definitely in the past—the roads leading out of the city were dirt, not cobblestone, and none of the buildings other than the palace and distant Colosseum reached past three stories. The city’s architecture was shadowed black and blue by the night.

“D-did you jump into the past?” Lorian asked. “Are we in the past?”

“I think so.”

“And I’m here, too? I’m—” He touched his chest and face. “ _ I’m  _ here?”

“Yeah. Just like my future self.” She knelt down and touched the grass. Her hand went through it like usual, but as she tried again and again, the blades caught on her fingertips. She was there, but barely. “I’m about tangible, are you?”

Lorian had his hands clasped tight to his chest. He was rubbing down his knuckles as he searched the empty grasses, a deer cautious of hidden foxes.

“Lorian?”

“We’re in the past .”

“Seems so.  Are you okay?”

He shook his head, and with that sincere admission, Aida took in the true scope of his fear. She remembered her first  jump, how lost and afraid she’d been. She’d wanted someone to touch her and help her through unnamed streets and tell her that everything would be alright. That feeling of loneliness came in the form of coldness that spread through your bones. She’d gotten used to the feeling and spent more time trying to figure out what time period she was in and what she could get from passerbys. She—no one in history—had ever travelled into the past with company before.

She took his hand.  “It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Everyone’s first trip is bad. You get  woozy and can’t find your feet, but you’ll get it.”

“Is this how it usually feels? This…emptiness, and shock?”

“I think it’s different for each person . Just focus on you and you’ll be okay.”

“What if we can’t go back? I-I’ve never done this before, I—” He slumped his side into her, holding her in a semi-hug as he regained his bearings. Aida held him while looking over his shoulder. The Moon was full. What day was it? What year?  Could she find Eve?

After rubbing Aida’s back assuredly, Lorian nodded to himself and sat up. He  still  looked sick. “Okay.”

“You good?”

“Not really, but you said I’ll be fine. I’m holding you to that.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They travelled steadily into the city, keeping their heads low so as not to draw any attention to their semi-physical forms. Aida felt herself being watched, knowing that she could just make contact with this world if she really tried. Normally, she would’ve been more adventurous and bolder. Now, especially with Lorian, she needed to be extra careful.

“What  happened back there?” Lorian asked as they  crossed through the  city's arch.  “That woman you met with, who was she?”

“I’m not sure. I think she might’ve been a traveller. She had the same eyes as…” She didn’t know if she wanted to say “Eve” or “me.”

“What if she wasn’t a traveller?” he then said. “What if she was a Goddess?”

“From  _ Pinnacle _ —Oh.” She played with her braid still intact from the jump. “I don’t know. I didn’t picture her like that.”

“She was tall.”

“She was scary.” She recalled that wild, unblinking look in her eyes all too akin to her own future self’s. “Let’s just keep our eyes ahead. If I start bringing deities into this muddled mess , I’m going to really lose my mind.”

This Roma/ Siina was like night and day to the one she’d entered during the festival. The streets weren’t decorated and adorned with flowers and music to celebrate unique creations. These streets had been torn apart by vicious hands. Street signs were hanging by broken chains. Windows had been smashed open. She swore she saw bodies lying in the cold alley corners but didn’t dare check. She felt like both of them, Lorian more so, wouldn’t take well to seeing death again so soon.

“Do you know what year this is?” Lorian asked. “Is this a war zone?”

“I don’t know. I need more information.”

They neared the Colosseum , Aida’s focal point. It was aglow with lanterns and torches, and a dull roar told her that hundreds, perhaps thousands of people were seated for a show.

An ear-piercing scream broke off into the night. It howled like a dying wolf to its pack. The only echo it received was the cheer from the stadium.

Aida’s back straightened. “Eve. That was Eve.”

“What was?”

She took off, her cane burying into the mud.

“Aida,  wait!”

She didn’t listen. Screw her failing memories, she’d memorized  _ everything  _ about Eve, including her dying screams the moment she’d lost her. She sounded in pain. No queen should’ve sounded so distraught in a place meant to murder the innocent.

She ran faster, blocking out how badly her leg hurt. History said that Eve had murdered Queen Julia, then King Julius had sentenced her and all of her  Visatorre people to death. No one knew anything more than that. History had erased her mistakes from the world.

And she wasn’t going to let that happen. Not a second time. She didn’t care about how time worked. To save Eve, she’d change fate and bring her back from the dead.

People crowded the entrances to the Colosseum like ants to their crushed anthill. Guards were stationed at the main and side doors so the people couldn’t see beyond the walls. They could only listen as the screaming grew louder and louder with each passing second.

“Aida.”

“We can get in, don’t worry. They won’t see us.”

Lorian fell back, making Aida turn on her heel. “ _ What _ ?”

That sickened look in Lorian’s face had grown to sheer disgust for the world around them. “I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?  Here, I’ll hold your hand so we won’t get separated.”

“It’s not that. Whatever horrible atrocity is occurring in there, it’s being done by my family’s orders. Every drop of blood that’s been spilled behind these walls is on my hands.”

“No, it’s not. You never ordered any of these people to die.”

“I might as well have!”

Aida took a step back.

Lorian took one forwards. “ _ Everything  _ in history is a result of my family’s lineage. We’re to account for every war that’s begun. For every dozen of our people to die in combat, thousands of others pay the price. Even today, my family fucks over the world with their selfish choices to be better than those we kill, yet we’ve become the very entity of death itself. Every choice they’ve ever made to slaughter and murder innocent people rests on me, so I shall not go into the place where it all started, I cannot do that. I won’t.”

Aida lowered her gaze so she wasn’t silently arguing with him over something she never knew was a problem. To anyone else, this would’ve been something to take pride in. But if one was paying attention, you’d realize how much blood-soaked history painted your throne, what you had to model yourself off of to keep the kingdom prosperous.

“Lorian,” she said slowly, trying to show him that she understood his point of view. “We might be able to alter the fate of what’s happening in this Colosseum tonight. If we can interact with the world, think about what we can do. Our actions might erase the horrible future your forefathers and my stupid future self are going to bring about. We can save Eve, we can save the Visatorre people.”

Lorian looked  worried ly at the multiple levels of the Colosseum. His lower lip was beginning to bleed with how much he was biting it.

Aida took both of his hands and forced him to look at her. With their height difference, it was difficult to reach his face, so she tugged him down so their lips were a breath apart.

She touched her warm forehead with his cool one. Their noses brushed together. It was all she could offer him in that moment. She hoped it’d be enough. “Trust me,” she said. “We’ll be okay. We’ll save Eve tonight and change our history. We’ll fix everything, just you and me.”

Lorian’s hands found their way to Aida’s hips. She knew he was a physical person and enjoyed the handholding and more-than-friends kissing they shared. A few months ago, she would’ve been disgusted by sharing this much space with a person. Now, she couldn’t imagine continuing on without him.

The crowd around them shifted, paying attention to something happening in the Colosseum.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s save Eve.”

The first three doors they tried to enter were barred shut with two royal  gladiators blocking the way. Each entrance had a group of at least thirty non-Vistatorre demanding to be let in.

“It’s full,” the  gladiators kept repeating. “You’ll be able to bear witness to her body the morning after.”

“We  have to see her now!” one person cried out. “Let the public see her before her death!”

Aida jogged halfway around the Colosseum. She found a low door not being guarded by any nearby gladiators. The closest one was hanging out near the tree line, his face obscured by shadows.

She tested her finger strength. “Okay. Let’s try this door. One, two…”

They both pulled on the latch. Her hands slipped through the metal. Lorian tried using the strength of his shoulder to pry it open. The foundation was  sturdier than it looked.

“Shit,” Aida cursed.

“We should keep looking.”

“We’re wasting time like this. Can we climb it?” She stepped back to guess. It was nearly fifteen meters to the next row of arches. They were stuck.

She almost tried to materialize through it when she heard someone shift in the tree line.

They both backed up. The gladiator, or person who was hiding in the trees, wore a black cloak that masked his identity, but as he fiddled with the lock, hitting it with a medieval hammer, Aida recognized him as one of Queen Eve’s gladiators, the one who always let her do whatever she desired. Fredrick, or Fausto. She couldn’t remember.

With a grunt, Eve’s  gladiator slammed the hammer against the lock and shattered it. 

He looked up to the Moon with a hand over his heart. “My God, Circa, protect us, protect her,” he said under his breath, then flung open the door.

Aida caught the door before it swung close. It was like stopping a wave from crashing into you.

They followed the man’s boots splashing in the wet puddles of the corridors. The halls were pitch black save for an occasional torch at the start of each four-way. The lights flickered when they passed.

“If we can do this,” Lorian said as they jogged, “if we’re able to change the past, the entirety of history as we know it will be altered.”

“I know.” She turned the corner. The gladiator was farther away than the last turn.

“Doesn’t that frighten you?”

“I have bigger issues on my mind at the moment.”

“Aida, if we do this, we might forget each other. We could alter fate enough that we might not be born, or we might never cross each other’s paths. We’d never meet again.”

Aida was ready to snap at him to stop distracting her with his worry, but it dawned on her, why he was freaking out over the what-ifs.

She looked up at him and smiled reassuringly.  “There won’t be a timeline where we won’t meet each other. We’re too stubborn to let that happen.”

Lorian’s eyebrows shot up with how boldly she proclaimed that. They knew they’d be together in a hazy timeline set in the future, but in another life, another story, another play? Whichever the case may be, she knew that they’d always be together because that’s what she wanted. She’d allowed herself to fall in love with him and wasn’t going to give him up that easily.

Lorian smiled for the first time since they jumped into the past. “I suppose that’s true.”

“I know it is.” She turned a wide corner. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great ruler.”

“What?”

“If you were to take the throne after your mother, with me by your side, you could probably reshape the world within a day, maybe a few hours if we worked harder than we already do now.”

Lorian watched his boots as they ran, mouth parted to form some type of disapproval to Aida’s suggestion. Then he shook his head in a smile. “Now’s not the time to think of fantasy.”

An arrow flung past Aida’s head and clattered against the stone.  The gladiator — Frederico , she now thought— cursed and drew a hidden blade from his cloak. Behind them, two Roman  gladiators drew their swords while another nocked another arrow.

“Halt!”

Frederico dove down another hall. Aida drew Lorian out of his stupor and made him follow. She didn’t know if they could die in this semi-permanent state, but she wasn’t going to find out in some musty Colosseum corridor searching for ghosts.

The gladiators were gaining on them. Frederico was more skilled at running from authorities than Aida and Lorian were. She wondered for how long they knew one another, to give context to why he’d risk his life for hers. Even as a gladiator, Aida didn’t know if she’d ever risk her life in exchange for someone else’s.

“Unhand me!”

A dim light was beginning to grow in front of them, but instead of hiding,  Frederico ran headfirst into the threat battling against Eve.

Two men had her  pinned against the wall. She was wearing the raggedy smock she’d worn the night she died and was bruised and bleeding. Her pinned hair was free and tangled down her back like a rat’s nest. Her eyes, Aida noted, were like hers with two white pupils, but her  Visatorre marking only had one circle.

Eve thrashed against the  gladiator holding her neck and freed herself. Her wrists were in shackles, and the  gladiator to her right, momentarily off guard by Frederico storming in, grabbed them to keep her from escaping.

“Let her go!” Frederico unsheathed a hidden knife and struck the gladiator. He nicked his shoulder. The gladiator stabbed him in the arm. The third gladiator kicked at Frederico’s knees and caused him to fall in front of the first gladiator like he was about to be knighted.

Eve acted fast. She reached for the  gladiator and his arm raising the sword to drop upon Frederico, but because of her height, she could only reach so high. She got him off balance, but it wasn’t enough. Just as Aida began to process the chaotic scene, the  gladiator swung hard into Frederico’s head.

Lorian looked away quick enough, but Aida didn’t. She didn’t know if she’d tried to save herself from seeing such an image: the sword striking down and sticking halfway out of Frederico’s skull. His mouth hung open, already lifeless, and when the gladiator yanked out his sword, he fell backwards in a pool of stagnant water and flowing blood.

Eve screamed, both in lament and in anger. She battled for the sword that’d taken away her friend, cursing all the men left in the room.

“Curse you! Curse you behemoths! You monsters!”

The remaining  gladiators forced Eve back up against the wall, securing her into submission before leading her away.

Aida looked down at Frederico’s corpse before following her queen.  She carried Lorian with her. His hand was cold.

“Why does the king want her alive?” one of the  gladiators asked. “Why not end this sorrowful life?”

Aida pulled on one of the gladiator’s vambraces. Her fingers couldn’t make contact. “Let her go!”

“He wants to make an example of her,” the leading  gladiator said, “to all who wish to see her suffer.”

“Curse you!” Eve spat . “Tell me where she is. By my god, I swear, when I survive this hellish act of defiance, I’ll see you all hung for your crimes against the capital of Siina.”

“That’s far too kind of you, Your Majesty, given what King Julius has in store for you.”

Aida began hitting the gladiator with her cane. "Why isn’t it working? Why can’t they see us?”

The gladiators stopped at a metal door. Behind it roared the deafening cheers of thousands of spectators. Their voices rattled the sconces nailed into the wall and called for more blood to spill tonight.

“Eve, come on. Look at me.” Aida forced herself in front of the queen. She was snarling.

Lorian backed up.

“Lorian,  help me.” She struggled to pull on Eve’s arm.

He shook his head.

“Lorian, please. None of this is your fault.”

“Then why does it feel so painful?”

One  gladiator not keeping Eve restrained unlatched the door’s heavy metal lock and turned a gear embedded in the wall to open the door.

The stadium was lit with lanterns, torches, and moonlight, bathing it in gold. The tiers went up four, five stories high and were packed with spectators. Armed gladiators lined the walls like statues, standing in front of caged lions that were snarling and clawing at the bars for a meal.

In the center, standing on a raised platform, was King Julius II holding a little girl by the hair. She was about four or five, with curly, dark brown hair. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

“Mama!” she cried out.

“No!” Eve struggled at the sight of the girl, but the gladiators ignored her and carried her into the stadium. When the crowds caught sight of her, an uproarious booing mixed with general shouts of unhappiness. They threw food at her, men screamed at her for what she’d done, from which Aida couldn’t discern. What had she done to make so many people despise her? Had they not been overjoyed by her pregnancy just a few years ago?

Aida ran up to Eve and touched her shoulder.

Her hand floated through her.

“No.” She tried again, this time with both hands. “Why isn’t it working? It worked in the field. Eve!”

Eve was positioned in front of the king’s platform, thrown on her knees, head yanked up to meet his eyes.

King Julius II looked down at her like an animal he’d just hunted, proud and smug, with a murderous hint to his cold eyes. The caged lions growled and roared in impatience.

“Give her back!” Eve pleaded. “Please, she’s done nothing wrong! Do not involve an innocent child in these games!”

“‘The sins of a father shall be passed onto his son’,” King Julius quoted, his voice booming. “Such is written into Roman law.” He took a scroll given to him by one of the men standing by him. He unfurled it. “Queen Eve Hyuang Costa, you have been brought here today on August 11th in the year  209 AUC before the eyes of Roma to pay for your unjust treason done upon by the Roman State.”

“No !  Stop this!”

Eve’s words were swept away by the  hatred of the  crowd.

The king continued. “You were offered sanctuary in the peaceful city of Roma as an act of good faith done so by I, King Julius II, with the promises of joint and amicable agreements, yet you have abandoned my trust and forsaken my name for the sake of committing adultery with my own wife, Queen Julia Ferro.”

The crowd upheaved into  batshit wailing. Eve  kept her fiery eyes on the king . “Yet you keep women of the night in your bed and  no one questions it! The roles are reversed for women who need to claw their way to the top in order to be seen in the presence of those who society put above us—”

“And this act of adultery ,” the king continued, “ as it’s written in our laws, is punishable by death.”

Aida couldn’t stand it. Even if she had done something wrong, she didn’t deserve this sort of pain and humiliation.

A hand grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go, Lorian!” she said. “We need to stop this!”

“Wait.” He pointed at the gladiators around them. They were slowly closing in, step by step, their spears and arrows and swords drawn for the kill. One had his confused eyes locked on to them.

Aida backed up into Lorian, the threat of being surrounded hitting her too late. “Can they see us or not?”

“I think they see us partly.”

The king rolled up his document.  “For the acts of adultery against the king, withholding truths from the king—”

“Julius, stop it!” Eve screamed.

“—and breaking the oaths in which you swore to defend the peace agreements between Siina and Roma, I hereby sentence you, your kin, and your Visatorre people to death.”

The crowd grew louder and louder during the king’s speech until his final words sent them into a hysteria. Men too eager to see Eve pay jumped and fell into the Colosseum.  Visatorre who must’ve been a part of  Siina began getting up, confused at the decree and trying to find a way out. The entrances were being blocked.

“No!” Eve screamed. “Don’t you dare touch her,  you vile hypocrite in sheep’s clothes! Don’t touch her! Don’t touch my people!”

King Julius ignored her and went for Eve’s daughter. He dragged her to a slab of stone her size. He laid her down, one knee against the small of her back. The poor girl wailed. Nobody eased her tears.

“W-we have to do something,” Aida said, convincing herself to act.

“I can’t move,” Lorian confessed. “I’m frightened, Aida.”

Aida stared up at the little girl’s face. She was struggling against the weight of the king on top of her, her pleas lost to the crowd demanding her death. Whatever these two monarchs were feeling, this little girl must’ve been feeling it tenfold, trapped between the arguments of lust-filled adults she did not understand.

Eve broke free from the gladiators holding her back, but she didn’t break into a run. Her body was flung forwards, then she righted herself only to fall backwards like an invisible force was hitting her. The gladiators tried to grab her, but when one touched her, Eve, with a spark of light, disappeared in a twirl.

The crowd broke into questioning and crying. They looked around the stadium. Some ran from incoming gladiators.

The king yelled and ripped his hand away from the girl. She’d bitten his hand. Taking her chance, she  leapt off the stage.

“No!” He flung out his hand for two gladiators to subdue her. “Find her! End this fucking lineage of hers! End—!”

The ground where Eve had stood cracked and gave way like a crater, knocking the nearest gladiators off of their feet. A black, sooty circle encircled it. The energy tumbled in excess.

Eve stood awkwardly in the center. Her shackles had vanished. She used her newly free hands to hold her head in some type of pain. She swayed by the sudden jump.

Aida held her own head. It was just like her jump here, dizzying without reasonable explanation. That ashy circle…

The gladiators paused, waiting to see what would happen next.

“ _ Grab _ her!” the king bellowed. “Take her!”

One tried. He ran at her with his sword raised.

“Eve, watch out!” Aida yelled.

Eve jerked to the right and disappeared with a crack. Then she reappeared seconds later three meters in front of the crater. She looked down at her hands and stood a little higher. She clenched and unclenched her hands, cracked her neck.

The gladiators ran in, first bumping into Aida and Lorian, then phasing through them. One went to grab Eve, but she was prepared. Jumping, she disappeared and reappeared left, then right. She jumped around them, toying with them, until she got too close to a gladiator with a dagger drawn close to her head.

She smiled to herself, realization dawning over her double-ringed Visatorre marking.

_ “How?” _ King Julius yelled. “How’re you doing that?”

“Eve!” Aida went to run, but another gladiator knocked into her and sent her to the ground. Her braids came undone. Her dress ripped.

“Aida!”

That was her, wasn’t it? Her head hurt too much to think straight, but that was her name. She was the rare  Visatorre girl touched by a Goddess and given powers to do amazing triumphs, and what was she squandering it for? Trepidation? A fear of starting an even larger genocide?

Eve grabbed the gladiator’s arm and brought it down. Before it cut her, she slammed him onto the ground using his own weight to steal his knife and end his life.

She gripped her new weapon madly, her bloodthirsty smile etched into her young face.

The men who’d tried to kill her now tried to defend themselves from her, but not knowing where she’d come at them next, they circled each other like blind sheep.

In one jump, Eve reappeared on the steps of the raised platform, then jumped, reaching halfway up the stairs. She fell, but that didn’t matter to someone like her now, she who could somehow control her jumps. She jumped forwards and landed next to the podium on which her daughter had almost lost her head.

The king had just one man left to defend him. The rest had abided by his orders to do whatever they could to kill Eve. They hadn’t expected her to be blessed—or cursed—with Circa’s powers.

Eve ducked low and aimed her dagger at his heart.

She missed.

She buried the dagger into his stomach instead.

Julius bent forwards over her, blood spilling from his open mouth. His nails dug into her shoulders, but she shook him off by jumping once more into the air. She fell into him, arched her shoulder, and cut straight through his neck.

The king’s head fell and thudded to the floor, and the stadium wailed like a siren, growing louder as more people took in the sight of their defeated king. A sea of bodies left their seats and stormed the Colosseum floor. Gladiators and servants,  Visatorre and slaves, the roars of lions uncaged, they all bombarded the space. Aida had lost Lorian somewhere. All she saw was chaos and Eve, standing tall at the podium to oversee her doing.

Eve leaned down and picked up the head of the Roman king by his hair. She stared into his glazed eyes, then raised it high above her so all could see. “For Siina!” she screamed.

Enraged gladiators stormed up to the stage to defend their king even in death.

Eve threw Julius’ head at them and vanished.

Aida looked around. People were running now. Screaming. Half of them ran into her and clipped into her in some way and caused her to fall or trip. Where was Lorian? Where was Eve?

She locked on t o a congregation of people screaming the loudest and ran for them. Those with a keen eye double-took her as she made her way through the crowd.

She wiped her wet eyes. She’d never wanted to believe the history books that painted Eve as a murderer. She was the  Visatorre’s most beloved queen. She was bold and smart and had built  Siina into a prosperous young kingdom, but she was now part of her history. She witnessed the anarchy. She knew the truth.

Eve  hadn’t murdered the queen of Roma.

She’d murdered  its king.

She caught sight of a blond ponytail waving through the crowds, and Aida pushed through to meet with them. “Lorian!” she shouted. If she wasn’t touching him by the time she jumped back…

At hearing Lorian’s name, the person with the blond ponytail, Julia—Jules—turned around and saw Aida. She had Eve’s daughter tucked safely into the side of her dress, protecting her from the belligerent crowds. Aida noticed, in the most inopportune times, that she was still wearing the bracelet Eve had tied around her wrist. After so much hurt and betrayal, she still kept that piece of Eve with her. “Eta!” she cried out. “ _ Eta _ !?”

“I’m here!”

Amongst the crowd, Eve was battling her way towards them. She had more blood on her. “Jules, where is she? Do you have her?”

Aida pushed her way through the crowd. “I’m right here,” she whispered.

“She’s right here, I have her!” Julia answered.

Eve flipped her blade to the hilt and butted innocent  people  from her path. Some of the Visatorre in the crowd were helping her, saving her queen even though she’d just murdered the world's most powerful monarch. They scuffled and fought with non-Visatorre, creating more of a battlefield than any of them had been expecting that night.

Aida tripped and fell atop a dead body. They’d been stabbed and trampled from the crowd. She pushed away from death touching her again.

Eve passed right by her, a meter away.

“Eve!” she shouted. “Eve, I’m here! I’m right here!”

She knew her voice wouldn’t reach her. The world was on fire and Eve couldn’t waste her time on a voice in her head. She just needed to know she’d tried, that she’d done everything she could’ve done to help her.

Just when Eve was about to reconnect with Jules, she stopped in her tracks to look down at Aida cowering in the dirt and called out for her.

The world stilled. Eve’s magical eyes snagged on Aida’s half-formed ones. She panted, unable to speak out at this half-visible girl before her.

She opened her mouth.

The spear that plunged into her abdomen silenced whatever she was going to say.

Aida covered her mouth. The spear made Eve top-heavy and dropped her to the ground. Her strangled scream mixed with Jules, who was finally screaming in horror at the sight of so much pain afflicting her kingdom.

The little girl watched on as her mother  dropped, too stunned to express anything.

A body hit against Aida’s back. “Aida,” Lorian said. “Aida, we need to leave. It’s not safe here.”

Aida kept her hand out. She’d been meant to save her. This had been her second chance. That was why she’d come to this timeline, hadn’t it? The  Visatorre needed her as a leader. For what reason had she dedicated so much of herself to her if not to save her like an officer to their monarch?

The ground pulsed underneath her hands. The sinking, swaying feeling crept up her body like a virus. Her vision  blurred, her arms gave out.

Eve, gagging on her own blood, reached for her daughter. The little girl fell into her side and tried keeping the blood inside of her.

“It’ll be okay,” the little girl cried. “You’re going to be okay.”

Eve might’ve disappeared with the little girl. It was what looked like happened, the two of them disappearing in one final burst of light.

Aida didn’t know. She and Lorian flashed back to the future at the same time, their doomed fate remaining unchanged.


	28. Getting Bored

_ _

_ "Fuck!” _

Lorian tripped and fell onto the cold floor.  They’d come back to the homeless shelter. It was deserted and dark , the room cold and strangely ghostly without  the fireplaces and volunteers buzzing about. The chairs were  sitting on the tables and the floors had been scrubbed of that soot circle Aida had created when  they’d jumped.

“Fuck!”

Aida was on her hands and knees, screaming through her curses. She slammed her fists against the floorboards, then used her head to  increase  the pain.

“Aida , stop .”

Pushing  him away , Aida rounded the corner, ran into a communal bathroom,  and shut herself away from Lorian yet again.

Lorian took a breath. He felt disconnected, like he wasn’t all there yet, but he wasn’t dying. He didn’t have a headache, he had  all four limbs and  five senses . He still  felt the wet blood  splatter the stadium stone and  heard Eve screaming  for that poor  girl, her daughter.

He held his heart  for a different type of pain. They could’ve changed everything if they’d saved Eve , yet he was too wrapped up in his own misgivings about his heritage to listen to Aida and act. He’d wanted to be an officer. What officer acted this childish? How could he face Aida now?

Lorian pulled himself up to the counter. Sitting on the edge was a key, a plate of cookies, and a letter written by Missus Sharma. Even in the dark, Lorian recognized her handwriting. She always wrote Lorian’s name, new and old, with a heart dotting the “ i .”

_ Dearest Lorian and Aida— _

_ I’m so sorry I’m not there with you. We all stayed there until closing hoping you'd both return. The owners promised that the building will be locked and secured for the night, but you can use this key to leave out the back should you return before morning. _

_ I hope you are alright, my loves, and are not in any pain. I don’t have the answers for how or why this’s happening, but I pray that you come back safe and unharmed. Please, please be careful, and Lorian, protect Aida. I worry so cautiously about her. I don’t want to see either of you getting hurt because of all this. _

_ If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning to make sure you’re alright. I can’t wait to see you again, my loves. _

_ P.S. Here’re some cookies the owners gave us. _

_ Be safe, _

_ —Missus Sharma _

Lorian reread her letter, hearing her sweet, caring voice enter his head, and  nibbled on one of the sugar cookies. He would do better.  He couldn’t stay wrapped up in his own head while the world continued to ask more of him. For her sake, and Aida’s, he’d work on being his best possible self for them.

_ “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great ruler.” _

He went  for the  bathroom door . It was locked.

“Aida,”  he whispered. “Please open the door. It’s like you said, we’ll always find each other. So don’t keep putting up barriers for me to break down. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

The floorboards in the bathroom creaked.

“Please, let me be here for you. Don’t  handle this all on your own. Being alone…” He dropped his head on the wood. “Being alone is as suffocating as it is lonely. Please, let me in so we don’t have to feel that way anymore.”

The door remained closed. He didn’t hear another sound come from the bathroom.

Then the door wrenched open, sending him forwards and falling  into her.

Tears  drenched her red cheeks. Her  hair was a mess and her glasses were  thrown  near the  sink, cracked near the top rim.

“I can’t jump back,” she said. “I tried and I tried and I can’t do it. I-I tried hitting my head, I bit my hand, thinking it was mental. I tried imaging how far away we are from the Colosseum and tried to physically, I don’t know,  _ force  _ myself in there, but I-I—”

Lorian took her into his arms.

She took him in hers. “She’s dead.”

He hugged her tighter, one hand petting the top of her head, the other pushing her into him.

“She’s dead and I couldn’t fix it. I’m useless.”

“You’re not useless.”

“ Look me in the eyes and tell me  that, Lorian .  I let her die  _ twice _ . I could’ve moved. I could’ve done something, but I couldn’t.” She fully embraced him now in sobs, no longer trying to hide her sorrow. “History’s not changing, Lorian. She’s never coming back.”

Lorian blinked back his tears as he steeled himself for her.  “History cannot be made without losing the people we love.”

“But I still don’t understand. One moment she’s a normal  Visatorre , the next, she’s  crisscrossing through time. I did it once and I can’t control it for shit.” She peeled her wet face off of him to look in the mirror. “Why didn’t I get my second  Visatorre circle? You would’ve thought that after seeing that, I would’ve earned it.”

“We should find Circa again.”

With a touch of fear, Aida peeked out to an empty shelter.

“That was her, I know it was. All of this must be her doing.”

Aida looked like she’d throw up. He couldn’t imagine the pain of loving a God only to find out that they truly did not care how much you suffered.

She put the balls of her hands into her eye sockets and stretched backwards. “ _ Fuuuuck _ _ ,”  _ she drawled.

“I know. You’ll figure this out.”

“No,  _ both _ of us better figure this out, because I don’t know what the fuck we’re  gonna do next. ” She started  re- braiding  her hair. “Eve’s gone, I have weird  eyes , and I don’t know about you, but I can’t focus on any thought for more than a fraction of a second.”

“Hey, at least you’re not writhing on the floor this time.”

She went to argue with him, then closed her mouth. “Yeah. Yeah? I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Count your blessings. We don’t get them very often.”

“No,” a voice said, “we really don’t.”

Lorian instinctively went for the absent rapier at his side. With the  number of times his life was threatened, he should’ve  had it  sewn into his jacket .

Future Aida, with her hands behind her back, grinned devilishly at him from the  doorway .

“I can help,” she said, “if  ya’ll want me to.”

Aida backed up into the counter and put on her glasses. “God damn it.”

“Hi to you, too. I never know how to greet you two, but I’ve learned that being direct is the best way to get through to you. Me. Us.” She stuck out her tongue. “I’m here to help.”

“Help with what?” Aida demanded. “You’re the most unhelpful person I’ve ever met. You’re the reason we’re getting fucked over like this. Why aren’t you helping us? Why did you let Eve die twice?”

“Hey,  whoa , who says I’m not helpful? I’m simply giving you hints on where you need to go.”

“Bullshit .”

“Hey, language. Now, come on, in, in.” She ushered Lorian into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.  Lorian kept his distance. It was like she was a poisonous snake ready to lunge for her next meal.  “Look, I know I don’t give you a lot of information. It kind of comes with the territory. But from what I remember from this time, neither of you are in a good headspace right now.”

“What gave  _ that  _ away?” Aida  asked .

Future Aida held up her hands.  “Hey, I’m not the best at picking up social cues. You know that . Give me a break.”

“Why should I? Ever since you came into our lives, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in our sides. We’re criminals because of you. I lost my scholarship because of you. Eve’s dead because of you.” The look in Aida’s eyes changed. “How do we even know you’re really me?”

Future Aida blinked. “I mean, does the face not give it away?”

“How should I know? You could be a demon pretending to be me and fucking up the timeline so we’re both miserable and you get your kicks.”

At that, Future Aida smiled, which only pissed off Aida more.

“Tell me something,” Aida demanded, “something only I would know. Right now. Don’t hop and skip away like you always do with some cryptic, lyrical bullshit you pull out of your ass. Tell me or else we’re leaving and you don’t get to have your fun anymore.”

Future Aida lifted her chin, staring her younger self down. While Lorian had confessed that the white pupils did make her prettier, this woman’s eyes and how wide she stared at him stirred something else inside of him, something sinister, like he’d do anything for her if she just asked, even murder.

“Fine,” she said. “You think all of this will be easier if Lorian would just go back to the palace and reconcile with their family.”

Aida  didn’t move .

“You think them taking back their title as princess would give you an easier path to the king and queen, who you wish to speak with to get the answers you’re looking for about Eve, but you wouldn’t dare ask them that because you know that going back home is the one thing they don’t want to do.” She looked up to the ceiling. “Well,  _ part  _ of their family is terrible. That’s an important note to make.”

Lorian looked to Aida for confirmation, but she was staring dead-eyed at her future self. Had she really thought that? If Lorian went back, things would be easier. The hunt would end, Carmine wouldn’t be run ragged every day, his mother would be happier, and Beatrice wouldn’t act like his leaving was somehow her fault. His father would be calmer, too, something everyone in the palace would’ve wanted, and they’d probably get closer to finding out these answers they needed without the nonsense of their future selves.

But to not even ask him, knowing that he couldn’t visit them right now due to his own safety and requests, if she’d done that, he didn’t know what to say. He’d only kiss her and thank Circa that he’d found  his person.

Aida crossed her arms. “What do you want from us?”

“Oh, so you believe me now? Just from that? I could tell you more, like how you’re terrified of cows or that you like the way Lorian touches your—”

“ _ Enough _ ,” Aida said. “Answers. Now . Why’re you here?”

“Currently? I’m bringing you to the palace, tonight.” She clapped her hands as if she were beckoning for a servant. “Let’s go. Pack your bags. It’s difficult to jump with one person, let alone two others.”

“What?” Aida asked. “No, we’ll be thrown in jail, or killed.”

“We won’t use the main entrance, silly, please. You’re talking to someone who’s broken into many homes and many Constable quarters. Have more faith in yourself.” She fished out a key from her dress pocket. It was silver and worn, with an emblem of a lion engraved on the top.

“A Roman skeleton key,” Lorian said, touching the middle of his chest where his own key resided. “Where’d you get  that ?”

“I have my ways,” she said. “How easy it is to break the law when the laws of the world don’t apply to you.”

“She stole it,” Aida paraphrased.

“I did not, I was gifted it, though you’d be surprised how few times the royal officers change the locks of the palace. Some are still the same from /Eve’s time.”

Lorian nodded, following the truths she was saying.

“Lorian, stop nodding,” Aida said. “Okay, what’s your plan, then, other than to get us killed?”

“Look, if you didn’t already get it, you  ain’t dying yet. You’re  _ me _ . And let’s be honest here, this’s boring.”

“Feeding the homeless?” Aida argued. “Watching Eve die, that’s boring to you?”

“Yes! Well, not the first  part , but we’re wasting too many pages of our lives wondering when or if or how when you should be doing  _ more _ . I want things to pick up the pace, so I am nudging you to the place you are meant to be.”

“But what if—”

“Aida, I am not out here to hurt you,  I’m not a masochist ,” she said in a rush. “Stop being so distrustful of your own self. I am on your side. That is a promise.” She held out her hand, waiting for her to take it. “You’ve always wanted to change the world. Do you trust me in achieving it?”

Aida didn’t take her eyes off of herself, glaring with a thousand questions on her sharp tongue. The two of them seemed to be having a conversation without words. He noticed that she did that at times, mentally organizing and rearranging her thoughts around the person so she could create a new, well-thought-out opinion.

Then she struck out her hand to Future Aida.

Future Aida beamed. “There we are!” she said, and snatched it up. With her other free hand, she grabbed at Lorian and pulled the both of them in close. She must’ve known that she didn’t have to ask Lorian for his trust because Lorian would trust Aida in whatever version she was.

“Hang on!” she said, and the three of them jumped into brightness.

\--

Lorian mentally praised himself for not landing on his face twice in two jumps. Future Aida brought them to a cobblestone road, but the unevenness of the ground actually worked in his favor. His boots caught on the stone and, while he tripped, he landed somewhat gracefully.

Aida didn’t. Even with her cane, she stumbled into her future self and brought the two of them down.

“Whoa!” Future Aida twirled and swung the two of them around, keeping both of them up. “Watch it. My leg’s already ruined badly enough.”

When Lorian realized where he was, he gasped and stumbled back. They were at the front of the palace, right outside the iron-clad fence with a roaring lion carved into the bars. It must’ve been the same night. The crescent Moon was still high above the flags on the spires of his home.

He hadn’t been so close to this place since he’d left on his wedding day. It was an ugly thing, blocky and made of sandy stone, with too many  merlons for a city that hadn’t fought a war in close to a hundred years. The only part that stood out for him was the hidden flower garden in the center of the palace and the clock tower. Tall, with a clock face nearly ten meters across. It was surrounded by stained glass that sparkled both inside and out in a myriad of colors:  his clock tower,  his safe haven.

He saw himself there, as a child: He’d be dancing on the wooden floor behind that clock, skipping over the colors reflected on the boards while the Carmine watched  him and smiled. It’d be past  his bedtime, but Carmine would only put a finger to his lips to keep it a secret between them.

One night, the two of them had snuck off after a rather hard day. His father had scolded him for breaking a window with one of his toys. He’d hit him across the cheek and sent him into a screaming, kicking fit that’d upset her mother into her bedchamber for two days.

While he was locked in his room, crying about how unfair life was, Carmine had come in.

_ “Get out!” Lorian had screamed. “Leave me alone!” _

_ Instead of arguing back, Carmine had put a finger up to his lips. He had stubble he called a mustache and wore his hair in a long ponytail. It wasn’t suitable for normal officers, but Carmine had always been a good friend of his mother back before she’d been crowned queen. He got away with these things, even today. _

_ Carmine came in with that usual smile that melted his heart. “Hey, there, little spitfire.” _

_ “What do you want?” Lorian asked. _

_ “I found this lying around in the kitchens, and you know how I hate cakes, so…” He pulled out a plate from behind his back with a fork, a folded napkin, and a perfect piece of strawberry shortcake drizzled with sugar on it. “Will you finish this?” _

_ Lorian remembered his face brightening up despite the pain still infecting his cheek. He gobbled up the cake greedily and shared the topping strawberry with Carmine. _

_ “I hate daddy,” Lorian told him. “All the kings in my history books are nice and strong, but he’s just a jerk. You know he’s not a nice person, don’t you, Carmie? How come you can’t be king?” _

_ “Because I can’t be. You have to be born into nobility, just like your mother and you and your sister, and like your grandmother and grandfather before her.” _

_ “Then how come you can’t marry Mama?” _

_ “Your Highness.” Startled by the forwardness of a young child, Carmine patted Lorian’s head. “Why don’t we change the subject?” _

_ He pouted.  _ _ “I don’t  _ _ wanna _ _.” _

_ “Fine.” He took his hand and sat  _ _ him _ _ up. “Come with me.” _

_ “Where’re we going?” _

_ He smirked.  _ _ “To break a few rules.” _

_ They snuck up all the way to the sixth story where only the clock tower resided. It rang by itself, so no one but Lorian would come up to bask in the architectural beauty. Him, and Carmine. _

_ He lifted his dress as he danced in a circle. The room was dusty and had the smell of  _ _ mothba _ _ lls baked into the wooden floors, but the room was all his own. No expensive dresses or gold jewelry passed on by his family that he was forced to wear. This was just a place for him to exist. _

_ He giggled and twirled in his white nightgown. “Dance with me,  _ _ Carmie _ _!” _

_ “I shouldn’t, Your Highness.” _

_ “I command you to! I’m  _ _ gonna _ _ be king one day, so you have to follow what I say!” _

_ “You’re going to be  _ queen _ , Your Highness, not king.” _

_ “Says who?” He grabbed his large hand and forced him into the center of the room, the moonlight their spotlight, the giant clock ticking to the song in Lorian’s head. _

_ Carmine laughed as he succumbed to his request, and the two of them danced for hours, singing and laughing about nothing. When Lorian got tired, he’d stand on Carmine’s boots, and he’d hold him until he was too tired to keep himself upright, and Carmine would carry him to bed like a baby. _

“Lorian.”

Both  Aidas had made it down the path and were waiting for him. His Aida was closer to him, refusing to move until he followed her.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded once.

“Let’s go, lovebirds,” Future Aida said. “You both know what the officers will do to us if they find us this close to the castle.”

Lorian knew, but what troubled him was that there were no officers patrolling this area. Normally, a handful of men would patrol this path at night, making sure the country’s fortress was secured, but he didn’t see a soul. Not even the lights of the main hall were lit. Were his parents out of town?

“Why didn’t you jump us into the palace?” Aida asked as they walked.

“Have you ever tried jumping with two people before? I didn’t want to get winded before we got there , and w alking five kilometers to a place both of you are scared of isn’t something I wanted to do to you.”

“I’m not scared,” Aida was quick to point out.

“You—”

“Anyway,” she continued, “before we get in, I need  more answers from you . One: How can you jump forwards and backwards? How can you control it?”

“It comes with age.”

“But how can you do it? And why are my eyes different? Why haven’t I received my second circle?”

“It comes with age.”

She threw up her free hand. “Come  _ on _ .”

“A little information would help us figure out this task you want us to complete,” Lorian rephrased, “whatever that may be.”

She opened the unlocked gate and allowed them entry like she was their butler.

“They never leave this open,” Lorian said.

“I opened it prior. I try to keep about twelve steps ahead of schedule at any given time.”

“You’re avoiding my question,” Aida continued. “What am I missing?”

“Okay, Little Aida, imagine, if you will, that when I came into your house, I’d told you that this blond-haired stranger that you didn’t really know because they kept all their feelings to themselves due to their royal upbringing was going to be your best friend.” She pointed at Lorian. “Try to work on that, by the way.”

“You didn’t come into my house, you came into my dorm.”

“Same difference. Anyway, if I told you that you and they were going to break into the Catacombs to unearth the true history of a dead queen you’ve never really known until this month while also trying to evade the Queen’s righthand man, would you have believed me, or would you’ve thought I was crazy?”

Aida continued staring at her.

“ _ And _ what if I told you that Eve was actually not a great person like you’ve built her up in your head for so many years who had more flaws than both our stepmom and Lorian’s  mother—sorry, father— combined? If I told you that she was a power-hungry adulterer, would you have believed me?”

“If you would've explained yourself, I would’ve.”

“No you wouldn’t have. And if I didn’t get you in trouble with the law, you wouldn’t have found, uh, what’s her name…” She tapped her head. “Missus…Miss—”

“Missus Sharma,” Lorian  said impatiently. How could one forget her?

“Right, right, Missus Sharma. You wouldn’t have found her nor would you have found that little book illustrating Eve and Julia holding hands, and then you wouldn’t have found Eve herself because you wouldn’t have had Lorian’s key to get into the Catacombs to discover her dead body because you never allowed yourself to trust him.” She read something written on her hand. “So, by leaving you without answers in your dorm room the first night we met, Lorian stayed with you, fell more in love with you, protected you, got you to Missus Sharma, got you to the Catacombs, got you to Eve.

“You see where this’s going?” she said with a wave of her hand. “Time, it’s all annoyingly connected and the more you explain how life works, the more it makes your brain all fuzzy. The best thing you can do is simply roll the dice the Gods have given you and try not to die in the process. You know, I’ve always wanted you to hyperfocus on your memorization skills, but evidently, you haven’t.”

Lorian waited for Aida to call her out or yell at her for talking down to her like that. He knew she hated people who questioned her intelligence without giving her the chance to find her own answer.

Aida’s grip on Lorian doubled. “Evidently, I haven’t.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” Lorian whispered, but Aida was slowing down and distancing themselves from Future Aida.

“Come on, you two,” Future Aida said over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

“You said ‘evidently’,” Aida said. “Why did you say that?”

“Did you want another adverb? That’s what they’re called, right? Adjectives, adverbs. Ugh, they all get so confused in the old noggin.”

“You’re trying to help us so we don’t ruin the past, but I’m you, so why does it matter?”

“I just like sticking my head into business all about me.”  She started humming to herself, tossing her head back and forth. Her swaying hair mesmerized Lorian until he realized what exactly Aida was getting at. Neither of them knew how this time travelling business worked, but what Aida was laying out was like a puzzle, the pieces beginning to fit in.

“You’re my future self, but you’re more scatterbrained than I am ,” Aida said. “ You keep forgetting things and losing track of time.”

Aida stopped walking. They were a handful of meters away from the entrance. “I thought we weren’t using the main doors.”

Future Aida reached for the handle. She checked her hand again. It had notes written on it. “Huh. Seems like I forgot about that bit.”

The doors slammed open.

Dozens of officers barged out. They were armed like their forefathers were in the Colosseum, with rapiers and archaic bows and arrows and spears to kill them.

Future Aida laughed and jumped to a third-story balcony overlooking the front doors. “ Whoa ! I guess that was  gonna happen, huh?”

“What is  _ wrong  _ with you!?” Aida snapped. “What were you  _ thinking _ ?”

“I’m actually thinking quite a lot of things at any given—”

“ _ Silence _ !”

Lorian’s royal blood ran cold. He thought he’d never be subjugated to that horrible voice again. He’d run away for several reasons, all of which he tried to justify in his mind, but every reason—his fear of marriage, his fear of becoming a ruler, his fear of disappointing everyone—stemmed from him.

Out from the front doors, guarded by Carmine and more armed officers, were his mother, his sister, Zaahir and Kadar, and his father. His parents were dressed in lavish blues and purples, proud and royal before the men they owned and the two young people they hated the most.

Beatrice gasped at the sight of him and went to run out to see him, but their father struck out his hand in front of her, shocking her backwards.

“It seems your plan backfired on you, you cursed woman,” his father said, looking up to where Future Aida was standing. “I overheard your conversation with this boy’s alleged ‘future self’.

Future Aida  peeked over her balcony, hair flopping over her face.

“I heard your plans to infiltrate my home and bring these two deviants to my throne room. You thought you could so easily break into one of the most secure palaces without my knowing.”

She tried holding back her laughter. “Oh,  _ never _ ,” she giggled. “Do you know how hard it would be for me to steal your keys and have access to every bathtub and parlor in this stinky place? Also, when were you listening to me? I could’ve sworn this didn’t happen. Lorian never reminded me about this.”

Carmine tried to usher the queen back inside, but the king held up his hand.

Lorian shuddered at the sight. He couldn’t even save himself, let alone the people he loved. He was about to give the order. To have them detained, whipped, tortured, executed, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Whatever his sister had done to betray them, whatever Future Aida was thinking, it didn’t matter. They were dead, because they couldn’t go against his father, otherwise they’d have to…

They’d have to…

“Run.”

He looked down at Aida.

“Run,” Aida whispered. “Get a head start. They’re angry with me, so the quicker you leave—”

“I won’t leave you.”

“You’re going to be taken away and married off because of her, of me.” Her grip tightened and tightened, her feelings betraying the words leaving her brain. “I’m sorry. I should’ve realized not to trust her. It all seems so obvious now.”

“I’m never leaving you, Aida. You can tell me all you want, but I’m never leaving you.”

She looked up at him, a fight on her tongue. Then she squeezed his hand back and huddled up close to his side.

The officers  surrounded them. Carmine had his eyes locked on Lorian. He wasn’t angry or bloodthirsty like his father. He held the same look at his mother, eyes wide, darting between them and the officers and the weapons trained on them.

“Please wait a moment, Your Majesty.” Zaahir stepped between them. “Is this not what’ve wanted? Did you not want to speak with both women about their plans?”

“Hey, you did?” Future Aida said. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Your Majesty.”

“These two have been a disgrace to my kingdom and my men ,” the king told Zaahir. “ I shall see to it that neither have the chance to escape my custody again. You are in my kingdom, Prince Zaahir, so I suggest that you hold your tongue when speaking to your superiors and stay in line.”

Zaahir’s thick eyebrows furrowed in rage.

“Uh-oh, this’s getting tense,” Future Aida said, as if watching a drama from the best seats in the house and reacting to performances. Had she no sense of urgency?

“Father,” Beatrice  spoke up .

“Be  _ quiet _ , Beatrice. I am tired of—”

“We are your children!”

Half of the officers looked to their princess.

The king turned to his only daughter.

“Please, just listen to us,” Beatrice begged. “Hear them out. This’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?  Why not listen to them?”

“I don’t wish to hold a conversation with  these people any longer , I want  them dead.”

Zaahir stepped up to the king, beside Beatrice. “Your Majesty, I have been on Roma’s side since the moment I was betrothed to your child as a toddler, when I had no choice to any part of my life except to serve this country, this world. Beatrice only wants what’s best for you and your kingdom. All we want is the best for both countries, and you seem to be holding the interests of your own pride over the interest of your own country.”

As he raised his voice, the officers, protecting Durante unsheathed their swords, all but Carmine, who stepped back at what the two had just alluded to.

“My!” Future Aida said.  She jumped through a jump and landed in front of Aida and Lorian, clapping.  “Well said, King and Queen!  Brava! Brava!”

“ _ Silence _ !” King Durante yelled. “Officers, capture her and these two. I don’t want to see them leaving my soil. Carmine, take Zaahir and Beatrice away. I’m tired of seeing their faces in my—”

“You’re to capture  _ us _ ?” Future Aida asked . “ _ Me _ ?  Now, how on Earth are you to do that?”

An officer let the first arrow fly.

Lorian heard Aida laugh before jumping out of the way and jumping straight near the king.

Carmine, who should’ve been ready to protect his sovereign, went to Lorian’s mother instead, running her back into the safety of the palace.

Leaving the king defenseless, Aida grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into her knee.

“ _ That’s  _ for hurting Lorian , you  _ prick _ .” She spun into another jump, and when she  landed back  in the present, she was with another.

Future Lorian stood by her side with  Carmine’s rapier held firmly in his hand. He lost his footing for a moment as he took in the scene around him. “ _ Really  _ had to make him mad , didn’t you?” Lorian heard them mutter.

“You know I had to,” she said, and the two of them charged.

Pandemonium broke out on the main lawn. Future Lorian parried swords, Aida took on men half her size. She’d found a dagger between now and her jump and was disarming men with it. She jumped every other second, confusing her assailant long enough for her to shove them to the ground or make them fall into the officer next to them. Lorian’s family and Zaahir were brought back into the palace. Amidst the fray, Carmine was battling on either joining his men in the fight or protecting Lorian’s family from a stray attack.

“Listen to me, Lorian,” Future Aida called out while fighting. “Go to your secret spot in the woods, the place you haven’t been in years. You know the place, don’t you?”

Lorian didn’t know what she was talking about. He was too focused on the stunned Carmine. He had his sword drawn now and was ready to attack Future Aida, but the girl paid him no mind. Instead of fighting him, she pulled something out of her dress pocket. It was an orb as small and black as a marble.

When Carmine saw it, he scrambled back and hid behind the door. “Damn it, not again—!”

She flicked the marble into the air, snatched it back into her clutches, then threw it at the ground as hard as she could.

The grounds exploded with black smoke, thickly and quickly like a sudden storm of hungry locusts. Officers coughed and tried swatting the smoke away. It stained the air and left  all of  them aimless.

Future Aida jumped high into the air, her grin never leaving her face. She pointed at the start of the dark forest behind the palace. “Go, and let the hunt begin!”

Lorian’s brain locked into place. The woods. The hunt. Little clues, like breadcrumbs leading him to the right answer. It was the second-best place for them to be at the moment, excluding Missus Sharma’s cottage, and perhaps the middle of the ocean.

Keeping hold of his Aida’s hand, Lorian followed his lover’s advice and ran for the dark  tree line .


	29. Log Cabin

An arrow almost struck its target, but a hand pulled Aida back and saved her. She had a five-second delay on everything happening. All she saw were swords and smoke and her future self destroying any chance of talking to the Roman king.

Arrows littered the ground behind them. She registered officers and a Constable or two, but she wasn’t sure. She kept her eyes on her feet until she and Lorian left the smoke and were running towards the trees.

The forest didn’t have a gate around it. It belonged to the crown and was therefore still on their territory. She heard a rumor that the queen liked watching the deer that’d come to the clearing from her windows. From how meek she looked in the palace before the Constable whisked her away, Aida believed it.

_ “Go to your secret spot in the woods.” _

She didn’t understand. Was it another lie concocted by her future self? Another rouse to get them into more danger? At best, she was an adult child who loved causing mischief. At worst, she was a devil sowing seeds of grief through their damned timeline. She’d essentially given them to King Durante for what? A good laugh? A befuddled look on Aida’s face? She wouldn’t have believed herself as easily as Lorian kept doing.

She could  _ not  _ believe she’d fucked up yet again. She’d had the chance to gain answers and finally be done with this game, and what had she done? Run away, giving up on ever getting the answers she needed. Why would anyone put their faith in her when she burned everything she touched? Truthfully, she’d been burning down her chances ever since she’d left  Bělico , thinking she could make it in Roma when everyone, even the man in charge, thought she was useless. 

The lights of the palace faded through the branches. The noise of the fight turned to chirping bugs and Lorian’s boots crunching down on snow and dry leaves. Snow piled up more the farther they trekked into the pine until Aida had trouble walking through it. Lorian finally slowed down for her when the forest became wilder and he needed to push past some of the thicker trees to get through. There had been a path he’d taken to, but he abandoned it a few minutes ago, opting for a less traceable route.

After twenty minutes of what seemed like aimless wandering, Aida found the thickest tree she could and leaned behind it to catch her breath. Her leg now had a steady heartbeat beating down to her numb toes, begging that she lay down and alleviate the pressure from it. Lorian stripped off his jacket as puffs of cold smoke left his lips.

She didn’t know what to say to him. What could be said? An apology? A deadpan delivery about their situation? A question? A demand? She kept panting to gain back some strength.

Lorian gave her a nod and motioned for her to keep following with a handhold. “We’re almost there.”

There he was. “Where? Some treehouse in the pine?”

“There’s a place my family and I used to visit out here. The last time we used it was about ten years ago, so I doubt they’ll search for us there. First.”

After another ten minutes of walking and stopping to breathe, Lorian slowed down and drew back to Aida’s side. “We’re here.”

The trees parted to a crystal lake that stretched a kilometer out. The Moon reflected itself off its calm waters and glittered silver and blue. Across the way, a homey cabin with a short dock made its home right on the water’s edge. Protective evergreens grew around it. An overturned canoe rested on its side. Its firewood supply looked endless stacked up against the side, growing moss in the darkening shadows.

“Ah,” Aida said, and finally realized what part of the woods she was in. “I’ve been here before.”

“Have you?”

“In a jump. I think it was the jump I made when we first met. Back at the entrance to Durante Academy. You helped me to my dorm.”

“Is this where you went? This used to be my mother’s and father’s cabin when we went on hunting trips. We did them a lot when I was a child. It looks like they abandoned it.”

“Is it safe?”

“For the time-being, I can only hope. There’re a few other buildings in these woods, but they’re mostly for stocking and officer purposes. For right now, until you can walk better, I think we’re safest here.”

“I can keep going.”

“You’re limping. You’ve been limping since we crossed that stream.”

“I don’t remember crossing any streams.”

“We crossed two.” He gave her his arm. “Come now.”

Arm in arm, they walked along the curve of the lake. Their steps spooked lily pad frogs and water bugs back into the frosty water. Aida clung to Lorian just as tightly as Lorian clung to her. She felt if she’d let him go now, she’d sink into the river mud without the will to dig herself out.

No lights were on in or around the house, but the flowers growing around the patio and walkway seemed fresh and lively. An assortment of them grew in pots and throughout the earth, tiny pockets of needed color. Lorian opened the front door with his skeleton key.

As soon as she entered the threshold, Aida felt a sense of peace blanket her. It was heavily furnished cabin with couches, paintings of the Roman landscape, and flatware that must’ve cost hundreds of Lyria lining the glass cabinets. It gave off the impression of being lived-in and rustic, but tinges of royalty shined through. The fireplace hadn’t a scratch or burn mark on it. The kitchen was immaculate. The red rugs that matched the ones in the palace had neither a fray nor mark on them.

It reminded Aida of her mother’s house, in a way. It was the home she’d always wanted to truly relax in. No list of demanding chores, no fear of being too loud or too herself. She saw herself living here, even though it—none of it—belonged to her.

While Lorian surveyed the empty rooms and lit a spare lantern for light, Aida fell into an armchair nearest the front windows. Along the windowsill, someone had carved out a crude lion head with a knife. It looked childish.

She looked down at her tired, muddy feet, at the dress Missus Sharma had bought for her that she’d ruined from her run. As Lorian closed each door, she sniffled away real tears but couldn’t keep them from clouding her weird version. She was to become Future Aida, a loud and stupid and hurtful person to all who came near her. Whatever she had in store for them, it would be because of Aida and her stupid rashness to prove herself to strangers that she was more than her Visatorre marking.

She pulled herself free of her dress. She shrugged out of her bodice and petticoat like they were a disgusting second skin and kicked off her heels. When Lorian came back, he found Aida half undressed, her dress in a lump beside her, in nothing but her tank top, bloomers, and stockings.

He brought the lantern close to Aida. “Did you happen to jump whilst I was away?”

Without looking at him, Aida held out her hand in an offering. “Take this for me.”

He crept over warily. “What is it?”

She dropped her hand in his, a weak attempt at a hand shake. “My dignity, and any responsibility I have moving forwards when it comes to our relationship.”

He looked over his empty hand. “I don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t be the one who has the final say in anything anymore, otherwise it’ll always turn up like this. Just take over for me. Change the timeline. Make things better.”

Lorian slowly wrapped his fingers around Aida’s offering. He must’ve had some semblance of authority in his blood, being royal and all. He probably wanted to take control of things, after everything Aida had done.

He knelt beside her and  clamshelled her hand together, hiding it like a frightened firefly. “And you think  _ I _ want that kind of responsibility?” he asked her. “Why do you think I left the luxuries of being royal? I want absolutely nothing to do with any type of power that I hadn’t asked for directly. You handle it so beautifully and strong, why would I ever take that from you? I can, surely, but Aida, I won’t be able to do it as well as you can.”

She scoffed. “What do you mean? I’m going to be  _ her _ , Lorian. I’m going to be stupid a-and more abrasive than I already am. I thought I had a clear understanding about what I wanted from my life, but to know I going to be turning into her is awful.” She covered her eyes, her nails digging into her Visatorre marking. “I have no idea what I’m doing anymore, Lorian. I’m scared of our future.”

Lorian took her into his arms. “That makes both of us, Aida. I too have had reservations about getting you caught up in my life. What I’ve been doing is selfish and cruel to my people, but I’m too bull-headed to accept that maybe I  _ should  _ go back and right the wrongs I’ve made. You’re the one who has kept me grounded in a world where I feel like I have no power. You talk to me not as a royal heir but as Lorian Ashwell, a person who sometimes doesn’t know what to say, who tries to pretend everything’s going to be okay when it clearly,  _ clearly _ isn’t.”

He touched the corner of her lips.

“You’re the only one to call out such things with me. You’re the only person aside from my sister to have ever done that with me. You’re smart and rational, you think everything through to the best of your ability. You care so, so, so much about people, to the point where you inspire me daily just based on your actions.”

He touched her forehead with his. “You’re an amazing woman, Aida, and I’m sure, through whatever crazy plot your future self is concocting, that everything you do is for the best.”

She sniffed. She never knew how, but the way he talked, just the sound of his voice, made her believe everything he was saying, even if some of it, he couldn’t prove. 

He smiled and took her hand. “Let’s go somewhere a bit more hidden, in case they try to find us again.”

“If they’re meant to find us, our future selves already know.”

“At least we know we aren’t going to die anytime soon.”

She smiled. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Darn it. And I try so hard.”

They climbed up to the second and third floor of the cabin. Lorian waited patiently for Aida to make it. Her legs had really given out on her from the palace to here. Her bad leg was now quivering.

“Sorry. Just one more flight.” He pulled a string from the ceiling to reveal the attic door. “This’s where I used to sleep sometimes.”

“You have a strange fixation with sleeping in unusual places.”

“I guess I was a weird child.”

“You guess?”

Despite being another attic space, Aida didn’t immediately hate the room. In fact, she rather liked it. It was furnished with a king-sized bed, a couch one could use as another bed, and its very own furnace to keep the space warm. A map of Lyria was tacked behind the bed frame, and there were two writing desks against the wall with books and papers still on it. From the corner of the rug flipped up to the dustless windowsills, the room looked well lived in, like someone had been using it the night before.

The moment she stepped into the room, though, a newer wave of familiarity warmed her like a fuzzy blanket. It stilled her for a moment, this feeling. It reminded her of the feeling she felt right before jumping into Eve’s timeline, making her feel so small and so big all at once.

It felt as if she’d already been here before.

Then she remembered she’d basically been in living in attics her whole life and buried that feeling inside.

Pushing up his sleeves, Lorian dragged one of the writing desks over the door and fastened the curtains closed. Aida beelined to the books in the writing desks.  _ The History of Roma: Their Lives Untold. ‘The Classical Era Reimagined. The Sanitation System of Roma _ .

She fanned through the pages. “Were these yours?”

He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t believe so. I wasn’t too into reading as a child. Perhaps my parents or one of our officers left them here for storage.” He left to light the furnace.

“We can’t,” Aida said. “The smell will give us away.”

“Right.” He set his lantern aside and opened one of the closet doors. He fished out heavy, knitted quilts and plump pillows. “My sister and I used to make pillow forts with these.”

“Is that something normal siblings do?”

“Back before we started regularly fighting, I suppose, though I’d hardly call your sisters ‘normal’.”

She snorted.

He pressed his hand into one of the bulkier pillows. “There’s something here…”

It came out before he finished the sentence. The case slipped off the heavy pillow and a fountain of red rose petals sprinkled out across the bed. They collected on the quilt and tumbled down the bedspread like waterfalls. Some caught in the air like snow and fluttered for a moment before resting over the covers.

Lorian, gaping, checked the innards of his now empty pillow case. It had no pillow in it at all.

Aida choked on a blunt laugh. “Are you joking?”

Lorian’s fingers twitched to touch some of the petals. They acted like stinging poison on his skin. “I don’t remember putting those in there.”

“Maybe it was from your sister pranking you or something.” Aida closed the book she was about to start and waltzed over to the bed instead. Her weight jumped the petals and startled Lorian into backing up. “What’re we going to do now?”

“About the roses?”

“About our incoming prison sentence.”

He sat beside her. “What’s there to do?”

“Hide out in the Catacombs?”

He went to say something, then closed his mouth.

“Too soon,” she answered for herself. “I don’t know, Lorian. I really don’t.”

He gestured to the quilts. “Are these warm enough?”

She wrapped herself up in one. Lorian helped getting part of it over her exposed shoulder.

“Want me to redress?”

“…You don’t have to,” he said in delay.

“You really are a royal kid, huh? Ten minutes in your old family cabin and you’ve completely reverted.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve tried really hard. When I was a child, I was such a brat. I sometimes feel that personality creep back whenever I’m stressed or nervous. It’s hard to completely undo what’s been instilled in you since childhood.”

“I understand.” Aida’s roaming fingers found a rose petal. She played with it between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell me a bit about your life back then. How was the king and queen on their off days? What were your favorite meals to eat there?”

His real smile returned to him, and his hand found hers between the roses.

;;

Two hours passed, and no one but Lorian’s memories and hooting owls disturbed them. He told her everything he’d yet to tell her in secret whispers. Little pranks he and Beatrice would play on the Constable, the time they’d stolen a handful of newly hatched sea turtles from the coastline. He told her of his times in this cabin, spending summer after summer hunting, foraging, getting caught in trees like overly-ambitious cats. He talked with a forlorn smile on his face; these memories hurt, but they held moments of happiness he felt comfortable sharing with Aida.

Aida tried to find any part of her history that was worth adding, but every time she found something to connect to him with, she remembered being beat or grounded and she kept quiet.

Lorian must’ve been a mind reader. After a particular memory that’d left her arm sore for two weeks, Lorian stopped talking and cuddled in closer with her. They’d taken to sharing one pillow and one blanket, their knees knocking, feet touching.

“Hey.” A stray hand tickled the top hairs of her head. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Just  compartmentalizing .”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I’ll be okay. Go on with your stories.”

“I don’t think I have much else to tell you.” He looked up. “I’m afraid of you being too close to the window.”

“Well, you’re closer to the door.”

“I should’ve brought my rapier.”

“To a homeless shelter?”

In the end, Aida rummaged through the kitchen using the low-lit lantern and found a decently sized kitchen knife. It felt nice keeping it underneath her pillow but made her feel a little off, knowing that she needed one in the first place.

“Most trained officers aren’t used to working at night,” Lorian said. “It’s left for officers-in-training like Allessio and Matteo.”

“The king and queen will probably extend their hours into the night to find us,” Aida said, “but did you see the Constable? He was supposed to attack us, but he didn’t.”

“Well, I think he was trying to protect my mother.”

“He went against the king’s orders.”

“My mother  _ is  _ technically the true sovereign, plus, they’ve been friends since they were little kids.”

She smirked. “You think there’s something there?”

“God, I hope not.” He looked up to the ceiling. “I mean, given what we know about monarchs, who knows?”

“Gross.”

Lorian yawned and moved up a bit closer to her.

“Thinking about sleeping?”

“Not really. Not yet, anyway.”

The ambiguity of that sentence lingered between them. Aida had scooped up most of the petals and tossed them out the window, but some were hiding underneath the covers and in-between their bodies.

“Aida, may I ask you something?”

She braced for the worst. She knew him well enough to know where this was going and didn’t know if she should’ve been leading him on like this.  _ If  _ this was leading him on, and if she knew what that meant. Should she’ve been sleeping on the floor? Should they’ve been sleeping in separate rooms? She hadn’t yet redressed.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “I know you aren’t one for romance, or love, or feelings of any kind, not the ones I feel so strongly for you. I know it’s selfish for me to place those feelings onto you.”

Her stomach fluttered. That word didn’t sound real. It sounded like a dare someone was forcing her to be a part of. She steadied her breathing. “That’s not a selfish thing to say.”

“I’ve been so scared for you this year, so much more than anyone I’ve ever met. When I saw those officers honing in on us, when I saw my father so close to you, I was beyond terrified. More terrified than when we were in the Catacombs. I want to see you succeed with everything you see wrong in the world, and I don’t want to see you hurt or fearful anymore. I want to be with you by your side forever and take care of you.”

His nose brushed against her neck. “I love you, Aida.”

She exhaled, though she didn’t know if it was in relief or not. “That so.”

“It is. It's always been.” His hand travelled upwards, almost touching her breast but not. She wondered if he could feel how fast her heart was beating. “Before anything else happens to us, I want to know if I have a chance to act on these feelings bubbling inside of me.”

“Feelings.” What were those? How did someone act on something that was concrete or able to be communicated easily? Whenever someone talked about love, they used poetic language and metaphors to get their image across. With anything else, with anger or jealousy or happiness, everyone knew what that meant and didn’t need long explanations to convey their meaning. People couldn’t do that with love. It was something so abstract that Aida thought most people didn’t understand it.

Just like her.

She kissed the rose petal. “Try.”

He lifted his head. “Pardon?”

“I don’t know how far I can go. I never tried experimenting with it, never had the chance or need to, but my adrenaline is unusually high right now. With you, now’s a better time than ever to try.”

He didn’t say anything. The breath on her neck faded. The bed creaked.

After an unreasonable amount of silence, Aida, red-faced, looked up.

His eyes were brimming with tears. He needed to cover his mouth to stifle the sniffling, but when they met eyes, he choked and let one tear go.

“Why’re you crying?”

“I’m just so happy. I’d be honored.”

“That sounds like a marriage…”

Lorian caressed her face with two caring hands, brushing back the stray hairs, before leaning in and kissing her.

How brave, how brazen of them, she thought, to kiss in his childhood cabin under the vigilant watch of the entire country’s law  enforcement . But now, she partly understood the motives of most people: No matter how bleak and terrible a life was, it was lovely to feel loved.

Lorian dipped down and kissed her neck.

She gasped. His lips heated up parts of herself she never knew were cold.

“Oh, Aida.”

Their thighs touched. Their socks grazed one another until Lorian lost one somewhere near the edge. He kept pressing into her like he wanted her to fall off the bed. It made her push into him, touching him more and more.

He cupped her breast. He freed it out of her loose undershirt. His hands had become so warm that it heated her up and burned her heart. She melted into it, unable to keep frozen any longer.

She understood it, why people touched like this.

His free hand wriggled underneath the covers and touched her upper thigh. “May I?”

She bit down her tongue. That was going too far, wasn’t it? At least she knew where he’d be touching when it came to her breast. This other hand could’ve gone anywhere and she couldn’t see it. “Y-you may. Not promising you anything, though.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything.” He tried for it, slowly. “It’s a bit awkward at this angle.”

His fingers slipped underneath her bloomer elastic, through the curly hair she now felt extremely self-conscious about. Did virginity have to be exclusive to penises, or could it be overcome by inexperienced hands? Did he  _ have _ one? She couldn’t think.

His head dipped to kiss her collarbone as he reached down, down. Aida didn’t know what she needed to do on her end, so she copied what she read in books. She tilted her head back and spread open her legs. She let go a subtle moan to show that she was enjoying it, because she thought she was, but before she embarrassed herself any more, his curious fingers pushed through and curled up inside of her.

Her heart deadened. Disgusted, she grabbed his eager arm. “Stop.”

Immediately his hand shot away. He almost knocked himself out. “Sorry.”

She squeezed her thighs together to make the tingling go away. Kissing, she got. Touching, that was fine. Anything more was immediately pushed to the back of her brain as foreign territory. “You don’t have to apologize. I just don’t want to do that again.”

“I’m sorry. I knew that was going too far. I should’ve waited. I’m sorry.”

She took his face to make him look at her. The subtle features of his face came back into focus under the warm lantern light. She’d never gotten this close to him before. He had freckles, very light ones, kissing the underneath of his green eyes.

She leaned up and claimed his lips. “Don’t apologize. I command you.”

“Oh, you’re commanding me now?” He left a lighter kiss on her cheek. “Don’t think I’d mind that.”

“Is that what you’re into? Should I change positions?” She lifted one leg over his knee. “That better?”

“A little bit.” He sighed into her neck again. “I’m a little worked up right now.”

“I mean, I can try and do something for you, if you’d like, if it the threat of being found out doesn’t trample your boner.”

“Aida, please.”

“I’m serious. Is that okay, by the way? I don’t want to use words that might make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not sure.” He kissed her chin, then left his lips there. “I was thinking,” he said, “instead of she or he, how about we use what your future self keeps calling me?”

“She calls you, ‘they’.”

He nodded. “Why don’t we give that a try?”

“Okay.”

“I know it sounds weird.”

“It’s not.”

“It just sort of sticks right now.”

“That’s fine.” She dropped her hands to their back. “It’ll always be fine.”

;;

She awoke not on her own, but from a hand slamming down on her. A jolt, a stirring of darkness spilling from her head, and she had a hand over Lorian just as they had a hand over her. A bright light flooded the room they were in. It took a few seconds for her to remember where they were and what they’d done instead of remembering all the places Lorian’s hands had burned into her the previous night and how sweet and new those sensations had been for her.

Lorian was sitting upright with one hand over the blankets. It looked like they were about to escape but were waiting for Aida to wake.

A sword unsheathed itself from across the room. The Constable was standing at the top of the hidden staircase. The table had been thrown against the wall. It looked like he’d been scouring the forest for hours looking for them; his face was smudged with dirt and  leaves were stuck in his hair.

“There you are,” he said, and took out a whistle from around his neck.

Aida covered her sensitive ears at its shrill tone. It was like a dog whistle that must’ve reached all corners of Lyria.

“Aida, go out the window!” Lorian warned. “Now!”

She tried, but she was more or less naked from her night with Lorian, and she was tangled in the blankets, and her head wasn’t yet screwed on.

“Oh no, not after the months of trials you’ve put me through. I know you aren’t those wretched future selves of yours. You can’t escape me.”

Aida grabbed her hidden knife and went to lash out at him, but from waking up so suddenly with the modest need to cover herself, her movements lagged, and the Constable easily knocked the knife out of her hands.

“Get off of her!” Lorian rammed their weight into him. Their elbow knocked against  his jaw as he disarmed him of his sword.

“Aida, go!”

The Constable dove backwards and picked up his sword. “Don’t move—”

He got into a sparring stance, ready to  continue the fight, when he caught sight of Lorian. They’d uncovered themselves and left their naked body exposed. Once they realized what they’d done, they scrambled back to their side of the bed and covered their upper half.

The Constable’s shoulders slumped. His jaw hung open like a broken hinge not from injury but from something else. He dropped the sword he’d fought so hard to keep in his hands. It clattered onto the wooden floors like a saucepan until it stopped and the room was quiet, the sound of running officers closing in around them.

He was staring at Lorian’s arm, specifically the self-made tattoo they’d given themselves when they were younger.

“Lucia?” he breathed. “Is that you?”


	30. Forest Scuffle

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep with Lorian. She’d wanted to stay up and guard them, but when they’d fallen asleep in her arms, she couldn’t help  herself .  She ’d  wanted  to forget that their hateful world existed for one night.

She’d been right: Love was a terrible decision to lose yourself in.

Lorian covered up their chest, but the Constable  had finally caught  on . After months of hunting down his time- traveller fugitive, after months without his beloved heir, he’d found both of them in the same place.

He tried to form the words, but nothing was coming out of his gaping mouth. He kept backing up until he hit the desk and dropped a few books to the ground. It spooked him enough to swallow back his stuttering. “I don’t…understand.”

Lorian scooted up to Aida and held her, glaring at the Constable like a dog barely tethered to their tree.

“Why…why’re you here?” the Constable finally said. “What ’ ve you been doing to us?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Lorian said.

“I thought…” Their throat closed up at the last word. “We thought you were dead.”

“Funny what a haircut and a corset can do to someone.”

Someone shouted outside.  A door slammed open and a flurry of boots  flooded the cabin .

The Constable looked between the attic door and Lorian. He held out his hand. “Wait—”

Four officers came up through the hidden door with their swords drawn. Two went for the bed immediately while two others stood back and gasped at the sight before them.

Lorian  kicked at one of the officer’s. “Get away!”

“Wait _ W _ _ ait _ .” The Constable picked up his rapier. “Tell me what’s going on. Why’re you…How did this happen?”

“What’s going on?” one of the officers asked.

“Should we call for backup?”

“No. For God’s sake, just stand down.” The Constable pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any idea what your mother has gone through because of this?”

“There hasn’t been a day when that hasn’t crossed my mind,” Lorian  said .

The rest of the daft officers finally caught on with their unit and lowered their weapons.

“This…must be dealt with by their Majesties,” the Constable concluded. “We need to tell Rosalia—Her Majesty—and His Majesty, of course…” He closed his eyes for a three count, then came back to his true self. The emotions died in his glazed-over eyes. “The king has asked me to take care of the girl.” He jabbed a finger at Aida, bringing her back into the picture. “You are returning back to your village in Bělico.”

“ _ Excuse  _ me?” Aida asked.

“His Royal Majesty said he had no use for you, knowing your future self is off gallivanting with more important information and power. He said he had no use detaining a person who can jump on their own free will.”

Both Aida and Lorian held their tongue. She could only guess that she had some power to control her jumps—she went to Eve every time, the only timeline that mattered—but she couldn’t jump willy  nilly . She couldn’t even control how long she was in the past or where exactly she landed. She kept that to herself.

“You…can’t,” Lorian said. “Her mother’s—”

“Meanwhile, we’ll bring Lucia back to the palace. Her parents need to know that we found her alive.”

“No!”

“We’ll take my carriage. Keep this quiet and don’t let anyone know until you get into the Palace. We can’t let this out to the public.”

“I’ll scream,” Lorian said.

“They’ll gag you.”

“Then I’ll fight.”

“Then they’ll bind you. You’re going back home whether you like it or not, Your Highness. This game is over. You are a princess and you are meant to obey.”

Aida slipped out of bed and went for her knife.  As if she was going back home. She’d scream for Lorian’s sake, and fight until they broke both of her legs. But she wasn’t going back to that prison. She wouldn’t let that happen.

Just as she grabbed hold of the knife, an officer slammed her into the headboard and handcuffed her wrists behind her.

“Get off her!” Lorian kicked the man  away. The Constable and two of his men  restrained the m with  handcuffs .

“Wait a moment!” Lorian begged. “Please, at least let us change first. I am still royalty. Give us some dignity.”

It looked like the Constable considered this, like his humanity was still there behind his  souless eyes. Then he looked away. “You have two minutes.”

Aida didn’t move. She felt that she’d landed on her hip wrong. It pulsed in pain, but she was far too proud and pissed off to say anything. She could  _ not _ go back home. She would’ve rather died.

She looked to the floor, holding herself up with her cane. Before Lorian, she  _ would’ve  _ rather died. If she was being forced back to that fucking farm after being expelled and captured by the head Constable of Roma City, she would’ve jumped out a window thinking she’d sunk to her lowest low. She’d done everything to escape that household, she’d spent all of her earnings on that boat to Roma for a chance to restart.

But now, she had Lorian. And Missus and  Mi’Sharma . Onti and Chrissie, people who liked her and protected her and gave her a home and real, familial love. And she needed to find out the last pieces of Eve’s life, and she needed to kick Future Aida's ass for letting all this happen to her. This wasn’t her ending.

As Lorian shamelessly got dressed in front of the men meant to serve them, Aida focused on the swirling patterns of the wooden floorboards. They either stretched out to the walls or ended in dark knots like how scientists thought the universe looked. With how many knots were in this room, she could envision hundreds of universes all interconnected.

Her hands sunk into the floorboards like sand, fuzzy and cold. She held her head not in pain but to hold back this rush of fuzziness.

The Constable walked up to her. She felt a hand come close. “Are you alright?”

To give her answer, Aida gave him the finger. “Get fucked,” she said, and jumped into time.

She landed on her knees instead of her face. Her bloomers kept her knees from getting scraped, as she landed on wet stone and icy snow.

She turned to see the log cabin only thirty meters behind her. Two officer carriages were parked by the lake, unguarded. The royal horses nibbled on what grass they could find.

She looked up to the window in the attic. She could just outline Lorian’s blond hair as they paused to get their ruffled shirt on. They were staring off to their side where Aida had been not a moment prior.

She touched her face, making sure she’d made the jump in one piece, before staggering to her feet and deciding if she should book it or not. She had a  head start into the woods, but Lorian, she couldn’t abandon them.

Lorian started looking around the room  and, be it fate or bad luck,  noticed her. It alerted the other officers to the window, then the  Constable. The officers disappeared on a mute order given by their leader.

Lorian shoved the Constable aside and threw open the window. “Run, Aida! Go!”

Her feet started moving before her brain told them to stop. She didn’t want to leave them, but she couldn’t worry them with being caught. They likely wouldn’t kill the spare heir, but a disabled Visatorre girl with a bite? Her sentence was more set in stone. She ran.

S he’d done it. She’d willed a jump to occur. What was  different? Had she  earned the second circle on her forehead? Back at the palace, she’d tried a hundred times to jump. It was why she hadn’t let go of Lorian’s hand in case she was able to jump them back ten minutes in the future, or the past, but she would’ve seen herself if that’d happened.

A headache was beginning to form behind her eyes. Future Aida was right. Thinking about time travel hurt one’s brain.

The Constable’s orders carried into the forest. They must’ve not taken any horses on their hunt because the Constable didn’t think he needed one to catch her. That, or he’d forgotten to grab the reins and lost time deciding whether or not to go back for his steed. For Aida’s amusement, she hoped for the latter.

“Stop!”

She knew it was fruitless to keep running, but it felt good knowing she was giving the Constable grief. He deserved it for all the terror and madness he’d give them for the next few years. Like she wouldn’t make him run for her.

His boot steps came in closer, faster, two steps for every one of Aida’s. She wondered if her cane was making a difference and if it’d be better to use it as a weapon.

Knowing she couldn’t find her way out quicker than he could, Aida stopped mid-run and swept the Constable under his feet with her cane. She then turned right down towards a stream, but the Constable grabbed her ankle and brought her down with him.

They struggled for better leverage, Aida knocking him with her good shoeless foot, the Constable grabbing at her arms and belly. The strength he should’ve had stayed back as he refused to kick or punch her, but Aida wasn’t as kind. She hit, struck, scratched, bit. She’d continue to fight and run until her bastard of a leg gave out and her cane almost snapped in two.

“Stop it!”  The Constable  tried sit ting on her so  she’d quit squirming. “Stop fighting me!”

“Fuck you! Fuck you and  the crown !”

The officers who’d followed the Constable into the forest had caught up. They had their swords drawn, circling them.

Aida took the end of her cane and whacked the  Constable in the face. The impact hit harder than she’d expected and flung his head backwards.  She paused. She hadn’t meant that.

Without looking, the  Constable flipped Aida on her stomach, and a ready officer handcuffed her wrists behind her back. The metal pinched at her skin and made her squeak in  pain.

“We’re done,” the Constable panted, and snatched her cane from her. “We’re done.”

To her surprise, they didn’t walk her back to the cabin. The forest trails she’d used to run away vanished into the thicket.

“Where ’r e we going?” she asked.

The Constable brought her into a clearing somewhere in the shallow depths of the forest. Between the thinner trees, she saw and heard the morning bustle of the main streets. Beams of yellow sunlight shone over the immaculate carriage she’d once egged without remorse.

Two officers opened the side door for her and the Constable and hopped into the coachmen’s seat. The horses shuffled in place, ready for travel. Aida did the same but kicked the door and the carriage’s wooden wheels.

“Knock it off!”  the Constable shouted, and shoved her into the back seat, clearly disgusted with her childish  behavior and even more upset with the fact that they’d be riding together.

Aida glared the Constable down as the carriage rode over the snowy earth. A patch of blood was dripping down his forehead and his uniform had tears in it, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He took out to a pad of parchment with a quill and began writing something down.

Aida willed herself to jump again, but her mind was too full. She needed a way to escape not only this carriage but the Constable and his goons for a third time while her hands were bound. Could she jump within a small space? How had she done it again? She’d been thinking of universes.

The carriage rolled over more stable ground Aida only assumed  was a road—she couldn’t tell; the windows were  glossy and frosted over, though she saw the outlines of buildings. Were they seriously going to book a boat ride for  Bělico today, with her looking so  homely ? These men truly had no standards.

Th e Constable  flipped  a page of his parchment. “I see  you’ve acquired that hideous glare from Lucia. I thought she’d outgrown it by now.”

“That’s not their name.”

He looked up.

“They go by Lorian now, and they  ain’t gonna be a princess. No matter how many crowns or gowns you force them to wear after this, they’re going to tear all of it away because they don’t want that life anymore.” She clicked her tongue. “One of the many reasons they left was to get that through your heads. Clearly, it never worked.”

The  Constable’s upper lip curled . “ How was I supposed to know that?”

“Was the name change, wardrobe change, and haircut not dead giveaways?” She squinted out the window. “Are you seriously taking me back to  Bělico ?”

“His Majesty commanded it.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to have me imprisoned?”

“He said there was no point because you can jump.  You should be thanking His Majesty. He’d originally wanted you hung, but Her Majesty The Queen  asked that no harm come to either of you. He conceded and said that taking you back home and stripping away your rights to enter Roma again would suffice for now.”

“Take away my—?” She choked on a laugh. “As if you don’t do that every damn day! You work for a man who’s thrown away every chance I’ve earned to be normal. A scholarship I fought to get, gone! My residency, gone! For what reason? Because—” She would’ve pointed to her Visatorre marking, but since her hands were cuffed, she simply looked up at it. “Because of this circle? How pathetic.”

“I don’t have the power to change that.”

“But you enforce it. You have the chance to change the fate of people like me but you don’t. You’re just as bad as he is.”

He sat up straighter. “If it were up to me—”

She widened her eyes, waiting.

He averted his. “Forget it.”

“There! See? If you want to help us, fucking  _ do _ something about it. Don’t be a watchdog for a man who doesn’t respect you or your opinions.”

“My opinions don’t matter in the course of my job. I have been with the crown for more than twenty-five years. I try my  damndest to keep Roma safe while keeping my oaths to  Their Majest ies .”

“Fuck the king and queen.”

The Constable’s jaw dropped. “How dare you—”

“Oh, shut up. I know for a fact that that bloodline is a lost cause. The queen has no spine when it comes to her rule, and her husband hits his children, for God’s sake. Lorian’s told me everything, so don’t try to deny it.”

The Constable set down his paperwork. “Don’t talk to me about the hardships Lucia and Beatrice have faced in their childhood. I was there. I watched them grow up, I was there to comfort them when they were struck. Do you think I enjoy children suffering? Don’t you think  that  if I had the slightest bit of power in those walls that I wouldn’t be fighting day and night for their protection? I had to  _ sit _ there and watch,  knowing that if I ever stood up for them, I would be sentenced to the gallows for speaking out of turn.”

He squared out his shoulders. “I love those two with all of my heart. Don’t you dare insinuate anything else.”

“I didn’t insinuate that you didn’t love them, I said the way the king treats them is the same way my stepmother treats me. They’re abusive and cruel, and delivering us back to them is allowing the cruelty to continue.”

Keeping her gaze for as long as possible, the Constable reached for his reports and t humbed through his  notes . “I have no records of abuse in your family.”

“Do you think my mother would’ve ever brought it up to anyone, or  that it wasn’t obvious to everyone in Bělico that a young and defenseless little  Visatorre girl would’ve been treated like cattle in  a  non- Visatorre Bělic an family? I was  adopted off the streets and treated like a  slave until I  got accepted into my dream school. You have no idea how happy I was to finally run away from my life and start anew here. And  then you came along and stripped all of that away from me based on a  prejudiced ruling that wasn’t fair and you know it wasn’t.”

He tried reading through his papers again, then threw back his head, sighed, and began undoing his jacket’s yellow buttons, revealing only a white  button-down .

Aida  pushed back . “What’re you doing?”

“I can’t hold  a conversation with you looking like this.” He got up and placed the jacket around her shoulders.

She went to kick him in the balls when she saw the tenderness in his mannish hands, the way his mustache looked this close up. He smelled of coffee and a bit like the forest, likely from searching all night with copious amounts of caffeine keeping him awake. Add a bit of manure underneath his fingernails and he would’ve reminded her of what a father was supposed to be.

She let him place it around her shoulders and sit back down without hurting him, hating herself for this moment of weakness. From her night with Lorian to running for her life to thinking about the very real threat of going home to making her first controlled jump, her mind had become scrambled.

But it wasn’t. It was never scrambled, she didn’t think, just working in overdrive every minute of every day. She never recognized that the sense to control a jump was always inside of her. She assumed she’d have to unlock a hidden pathway and figure everything out at once, but that’s not how the world worked. Things happened gradually like grains of sand collecting at the bottom of an hourglass until the time ran out. She assumed this was how falling in love worked: You never knew it was happening to you until the effects overtook you like magic and suddenly a person had become  _ your  _ person.

Her thoughts trailed off. The Constable asked her something, but her ears were clogged. Doing the only thing she could, she struck out her good leg, hitting him in the shin and making the needed connection to take him away with her. 

Where, she had no idea. She could only control  _ if _ she jumped, not where or when. Yet.

The two of them disappeared a second later into a timeline unknown.


	31. Home

Lorian had given one officer a black eye and sent another to the infirmary before they had the sense to blind and gag them.

“Where’s Aida?” they demanded as they were  restrained. “Please, I need to see—Let me see her!”

They fought for Aida’s sake. They hadn’t reunited with her yet, so Lorian showed these daft officers what their lives would be like until they were back together. They called their mothers every slur they knew, they never stopped thrashing against their vicelike grips. After they heard something crack and a man spat out a mouthful of blood, they bound Lorian’s feet and eyes so it made it difficult to fight back.

Difficult, but not impossible.

They dragged Lorian out of the cabin into a nearby carriage. They’d thought two officers in the backseats would be enough, but Lorian shattered one of the windows with their elbow.

“Restrain her!” called the driver.

“Give her back!” Lorian yelled through the gag, and their head was forced down. When their carriage ride ended, Lorian’s neck was strained from desperately pushing against the officer’s hand on their neck.

Ducks quacked upon their arrival. It was the first clue that they’d been dragged back to the castle. In the back of the castle near the servants’ entrance was where they kept the castle ducks, geese, chickens, and roosters. Only the finest eggs for a family much too deserving of them.

Without the means to walk on their own, Lorian announced they were back home by cursing out the people inside, their father in particular. They knew they did well when they heard a maid gasp in alarm.

“So much for the art of surprise,” one pissed officer said, and Lorian responded by degrading their mothers.

The remaining officers led Lorian into a spacious room. By how many flights they’d gone up and how aggressive the scent of perfumes and fresh linen lingered, Lorian only assumed it was their bedroom. Sure enough, once the doors were locked and Lorian pulled off their own blindfold, they were struck with godawful familiarity.

The portraits they’d ruined and tapestry they’d torn were now replaced with bolder, gaudier artwork. Their bed had been shifted and the locks had been changed. Their windows still had glass, which made for an easy escape, but there were now bars incarcerating them like they were a criminal. And when they checked their closet, they were met with dresses, petticoats, stockings, heels layering the floor like spikes.

Nothing smelled like them. Nothing smelled like Missus Sharma or her pastries.

“Fuck!” they shouted, and went for their bedroom door knowing what would happen but still needing to get out the energy that’d entered them. They kicked the handle, the center to see if their boot would go through. Their door had been replaced multiple times with stronger wood. This one hardly dented. “Let me out! You can’t keep me  here !”

Nobody answered them.

“Please!” they begged. “You can’t—I can’t be here! I can’t!”

Nothing but the silence in this God forsaken place responded.

They pulled at their short hair. It was over. In a few minutes or hours, their father would come in and tear out the new chapters they’d written with Aida. He’d chain them up—literally or figuratively, it didn’t matter—and their signature would be forged to marry Prince Zaahir. They’d be sent on a boat and locked in another room that wouldn’t smell like them, and then…

“Enough!” the officer on Lorian Watch said through the door.

“Let me out!” they ordered. “I can’t breathe!” And they couldn’t. This world wasn’t ready for them and they couldn’t father children because if they did, if they couldn’t be with Aida…

“Your mother and father are in a meeting. They will be in to see you shortly.”

Somehow, that hurt the most and staggered Lorian back. They were too busy with work to even care that one of their children had come back home. It wasn’t unexpected, just something they wished might’ve been different: the definition of “insanity,” hoping to change the status quo that hadn’t been touched in a millennium.

Lorian held back their tears as they paced in circles. They wondered if their parents would even see them as their child anymore. Maybe their mother, but a look from their father would’ve changed her mind. Their father likely only saw them as a pawn to be wed off to a distant country’s prince, but no daughter, or son, or whatever they were now.

In his eyes, they’d always be nothing.

\--

The rays of Sun that managed to stream through Lorian’s windows counted down their remaining hours of freedom. They passed through the forest trees where they’d last seen Aida. If Aida had been caught and Carmine had been as punctual as he’d sounded, she would’ve been on the last boat to  Bělico by now.

Whoever had reset their bedroom to better appease their father hadn’t found Lorian’s hidden stash of Nectar bottles. They kept a few of them hidden underneath the floorboards near their closet wall. A missing stone that made up the insulation proved to be the most efficient hiding place for their things. They’d hidden notes here when they were a child, secret presents of animal bones wrapped in vines to give to Missus Sharma the next time she did their laundry. Next it was knives they’d steal from downstairs, and then cigarettes and Nectar onwards.

They finished through their stash once the Moon had risen over the trees.

They took a greedy swig from their bottle, letting the thick ambrosia burn going down. Their parents must’ve known the truth by now, that Lorian was Lucia and their runaway princess had become a time-traveller’s assistant in dastardly crimes. They wondered what Beatrice had said to them, if she’d said anything. Had she kept their identity a secret this whole time?

They took another swig. The officer outside their room was mysteriously quiet this evening. They didn’t hear them speak with other officers going to and  fro about the castle and they didn’t answer any of Lorian’s questions pertaining to Aida. Carmine wouldn’t have hurt her, but what if one of his officers had? Was she safe? Had she fought harder than Lorian?

Itching for a fight, Lorian fell out of bed and crawled to the door. “I  wanna go to the clock tower,” they slurred. “I can’t think straight.”

The stationed officer said nothing.

“You can’t keep me here! I’ve broken out before, I’ll break out again. I’ll—” They faced the windows. “I’ll slam my head in so hard—”

“Your Highness, you mustn’t say such things.”

“Don’t call me that!” they shouted. “That’s not me.”

Their head swayed. Wasn’t it, though? If they were to marry Zaahir, becoming the princess of Aldaí  _ and  _ princess of…

They returned to bed. They didn’t want to be a princess or queen, they didn’t want the responsibility of ruling a kingdom right now. They didn’t want  _ any  _ of this. What they  _ wanted  _ was Aida and what they  _ needed  _ was her guidance to get them the fuck out of here.

It wouldn’t happen now. They were nothing without Aida. She inspired them to be better and without her, Lorian was just a selfish, bratty princess who couldn’t do what they were told. They needed to accept that they wouldn’t see Aida again, or if they did, it would be her future self that’d likely destroy more of their future.

A knock rapped on their door. To answer, Lorian cursed them out and slipped  getting back into bed.

The door unlocked with a key.

Zaahir nodded to the officer outside Lorian’s bedroom and  entered  with Kadar tailing behind  his robes .

Lorian lifted their legs onto their bed. “What, is this beautiful wedding finally on? Are you here to ravage me?”

Zaahir pressed a finger to his lips until he and Kadar were out of earshot from the door. He walked around Lorian’s discarded bottles. He set one on their nightstand. “Are you  alright?”

“Absolutely perfect.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking. Your father wishes to speak with you tonight .”

“Oh, really? I had no idea.”

“Lorian, please, stay with me a moment.”

“According to our parents, we’re to stay together for the rest of our lives.”

Zaahir picked up another thrown bottle of Nectar. “You must sober up. I cannot stress this enough. I know you’re upset and frightened about what’s to come. This past month with your father has been horrendous and I do not know how you survived short of twenty-four years with him.” He looked nervously at the door as if he was listening in. He drew closer to Lorian. Lorian scooted back.

Zaahir looked up, confused by everything Lorian was, then said something in  Aldaían and opened his arms like he was going to fall backwards. “Lorian—Let me be perfectly clear with you: I have absolutely no interest in pursuing you in any romantic or nuptial way, and despite what you may think of me and what I’m going to suggest, I am simply not interested in this fifteen-year-long engagement our parents have molded around us, okay?”

Lorian’s eyes went crossed at his long speech, then came back when he stopped talking. “You don’t  wanna marry me?”

“I never have,  and I believe you’ve shown your distaste in the idea in more  obvious ways than I have.”

“My liege.” Kadar leaned in to their conversation. “We need to hurry.”

“How come you don’t  wanna marry me?” they asked. “I thought you wanted to marry me.”

“Was it not obvious that I’m already committed to someone? Haven’t I told you?”

“You’re in  _ love _ ?”

“Lorian —”

“But are you? Are you?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes, Lorian, I’m deeply in love with Kadar here. You’ve met him before , he’s a wonderful man.”

Lorian looked around the prince of  Aldaí to his quiet knight. They waved. Kadar waved back.

Then Lorian jolted. “Wait! If  _ you’re _ in love with him and  _ I’m _ in love with Aida, then why  in  the  Gods’ names are we still engaged? What’s the point if we don’t want each other?”

“Because we have obligations.”

“To whom? To the people who will soon be under  _ our _ ruling?”

“There’re rules, Lorian, but listen to me.”

They did, now knowing that this secret midnight meeting didn’t have any nefarious undertones to it.

“If we can make this meeting with the king work, you and I can gain some advantage against him and end this nightmare we’re stuck in.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Your father just got out of talking with his counsel and he’s very upset with all of us. All this time, I’ve been trying to please him and make him respect me as a young heir, but now he sees me no more than a child trying on my mother’s shoes. Your sister has been helping me, but we need you to keep calm and to not rustle any more feathers to get some sense into him.”

“I have rustled no feathers.”

“You—”

“I’m joking.” They fixed up their hair and shirt to look more presentable. “I’ll be good.”

“Good, because your father  sent me up here to get you. He wants to speak with you now .”

Two officers, along with Kadar, escorted them to their father’s meeting room. Given that the country just found their lost heir, the halls were exceptionally barren. Elegant and rich, with paintings that’d been here since their mother’s grandmother’s time. The lights were lit low, heating the gold in a warm glow. The officers said nothing to them, and Lorian wondered if they’d been ordered not to pry. Their father controlled everything, even the people’s thoughts.

“Now, once you meet with your mother and father and they begin asking you questions,” Zaahir said, “I’ll take over most of the talking. Your mother values my viewpoints and your father might understand our situation through a sober thought.”

“I’ll sober up. I was just upset. Mother and Father haven’t even visited me.”

“I’m sure they’re busy tracking down those future selves of yours. You haven’t a clue what their next ploy is, do you?”

“No. That’s the thing with those future selves, we’re always  gonna be ten paces behind them.”

“I figured .”

"Do you know anything about Aida?” they asked hopefully. “Do you know where she is?”

“I do not. Did you hear about their carriage?”

The implication of that question smacked them awake. “What happened to her?”

“They don’t know. The officers driving it hadn’t heard anything from Constable Carmine and stopped the carriage to investigate. They found that both Aida and the Constable had disappeared without opening either door. It seems they’ve both time-travelled together.”

Lorian sighed in relief. Even with Aida’s whereabouts unclear, she hadn’t been brought back to that sadistic household. She’d bought herself some time  _ and  _ had gotten Carmine off of their back. Truly a wonder, that girl.

“We’ll figure this out,” Zaahir said, “you and I, and Kadar and your sister. Despite everything that’s happened, she still  loves you very much.”

Lorian went to argue that last point. For every reconciliation they’d had, two fights were birthed from it. Hair pulling, screaming matches. They’d once injured a maid when she’d try to pull them apart. That was back when they could still punch each other and not send waves of unrest throughout multiple kingdoms.

They peered over to Kadar,  who’d been holding his tongue like a true  Aldaían knight. “When did this happen? You and Kadar?”

Zaahir smiled. “Do you remember when we first met? We were still too young to understand what was going on with our arranged marriage, but I was told to be courteous and chivalrous to you, to act like the prince I always read about in fairy tales. When I memorized what I needed to say and asked for your hand, your little six-year-old hand, I believe you told me, ‘Why in your right mind would I ever want to marry you, you…’ I believe you called me a ‘pompous shithead’.”

The officers gave in and turned their heads to such outlandish talk between royals.

Lorian laughed. “Did I really say that to you ?”

“Yes. Our parents were furious, especially your father .”

“I’d believe it. I was so against the thought of marrying someone I didn’t know, I’d make myself throw up before meeting you.  I tried everything to get out of it. It doesn’t seem I’ve matured past that.”

“Nothing of the sort. Despite only meeting you a handful of times, you inspired me.”

“I  _ inspired  _ you?”

“Greatly. You were the first girl—” He stopped short and looked to Lorian for approval.

“‘They’ is good for me right now.”

“Of course. My apologies. So, when I met you, I never knew children could deviate from the norm like that. Back at the capitol, while same-sex couples weren’t discouraged, royal heirs were expected to continue the royal line to keep the family trees pure. This meant we were expected to conceive a child with a favorable suitor already picked out for us. But then I met you and heard the way you acted as either a boy or a girl.”

“Sometimes neither.”

“That as well. I hadn’t been raised with such nuance interpretations of gender and sexuality. After that, I began exploring my…options.” He fell back and took Kadar’s hand, which Kadar shyly reciprocated. “While I’m still expected to have heirs, I’m fully allowed to keep him in my heart. And right now, I  _ only _ want him in my heart.”

All the hesitation Lorian had with Zaahir completely vanished. Knowing they shared a similar anxiety about deviating from the norm made him more real than ever. Before tonight, Lorian saw Zaahir as this pristine little boy from  Aldaí . Now, he felt more like a true friend, an ally.

They turned the corner to a short hallway that Lorian knew too well. It held only one room next to a row of windows that overlooked the private gardens. Whenever Lorian acted out, their father would bring them into that room and lash out at them. Yelling, slapping, caning until he broke them. Even now, hearing a man yell at them made them flinch.

Lorian felt like vomiting again. Three armed officers waited by the door, signaling how many people of importance were in that room.

“It’ll be okay,” Zaahir whispered, and the officers knocked on the door.

There was a pause. Someone talking within the room stopped and got up.

“You may enter.”

Lorian locked onto their mother first, for when they came in, she bolted upright, hair and dress bouncing, a hand over her chest.

Lorian grabbed her arms to keep her from falling. She started crying, something that always hurt no matter what she did alongside her husband’s wishes. Her hair looked greyer, her features more pronounced like a detailed portrait.

“Oh , my love,” she cried. “I’m so happy you’re here with us again. I was so worried.”

Lorian massaged her back.  _ She  _ smelled like home. Her long face, her long, beautiful hair that reached the floor, it was comforting, despite all the harsh memories they had connected with her. They wondered if she’d been upset that Lorian had cut off all the hair that marked every royal Roman woman.

Their father was still sitting with two of his advisors. Their sister was on a couch by herself, hands folded on her lap. She did sit up when Lorian entered but didn’t speak.

Their father did instead. “ Rosalia .”

Their mother pulled back from Lorian and bowed.

Zaahir and Kadar bowed to the room. “Thank you for having us so late in the evening,” Zaahir said.

Their father motioned at the empty couch in front of him.

Lorian  refused at first, then remembered what they needed to do and sat.

They all sat in a circle, yet nobody made eye contact with each other. The quietness settled over them like a poisonous gas waiting to be inhaled.

Lorian tried keeping as still as their mother. They recognized this silence before the storm. They knew this side of their father.

Zaahir cleared his throat.  “As we promised,”  he  started, “I’ve  spoken with Lucia in detail about the events—”

“What will it take?”

They all looked up to Lorian’s father, who was now leaning forwards, his fingers interlocked in thought.

“What will it take,” he repeated, “to put this behind us?” He gestured to Lorian’s outfit like he was pointing to something tangible. “These…outfits, and these names you’re choosing to go by. If that’s what you want, you can have it. If it means keeping you here with us, I’ll allow this ‘Lorian’ in my Palace.”

Lorian looked around the room to everyone’s confused faces. They’d never thought that name would ever pass their father’s lips. Had she wanted it to? Did it deserve to be said in his voice?

What was his ulterior motive? That’s how it worked in these meetings. He always searched for something he could gain from every conversation he had. From asking for his mother’s hand in marriage to his constant questions about  Aldaí’s resources and their own prince. He just  _ wanted _ , like a sink hole in a field full of loose sand.

“That’s what you want,  is it not ?” their father repeated. “That’s why you left. That’s why you’ve been acting out ever since you were born. Well, now you have it.”

Zaahir faked a smile that Lorian was convinced young heirs needed to master to stay afloat. “What…fantastic news, Your Majesty. That’s incredibly thoughtful of you.”

Lorian readdressed the room. Their mother had taken out a fan and was hiding her mouth. Beatrice had knitted her brows in confusion. Their father’s eyes were as cold as the  Bělico mountains.

They gulped. “In exchange?”

Their father continued glaring at them. They didn’t know how Aida was able to do this so easily and not feel intimidated by someone with so much power over them.

“In exchange for what you promised us when the Gods bequeathed us with two  girls .”

That sick feeling churned in their stomach. They backed up into the couch to escape those eyes.

“No matter how many tantrums you throw, you are still engaged to Prince Zaahir, and I expect you to bear the children expected of you.”

Zaahir’s composure cracked.  “Your Majesty, perhaps we should—”

“Silence,” he snapped at Zaahir,  and Zaahir went still.

“You two are to abide by the rules instilled in all of us. What  you’re called by  doesn’t matter in the case of formal union.  You are the royal successor to Roma. In three  days’ time, you will  be set to marry  Prince Zaahir , to which you will consummate and make the marriage official. Until then,  you’ll be kept under watch in your room until the ceremony begins.”

The simplicity of this fake family reunion cracked and bled out amongst the room.

“Dear,” their mother said. “This isn’t what you—”

“I told you that there’s nothing more to discuss. She cannot travel and run away from her duties like that delinquent child she’s been aligning herself with. All of this will be put to an end tonight.”

“But I—”

“Stop acting like a child!” their father roared, and their mother sobbed into her fan. “I’ll have no more time for these childish games. Pretend to be everything and anything you wish to be, but you are a royal child, first and foremost, and in three days from now, you will be married to Prince Zaahir and you will fulfill what is  expected of you.”

“Wait!” Lorian stood up for themselves, their knees knocking into the coffee table. “Father, please, just give me a second to speak. I know you expect a lot from me.”

“Do I, after every single time I’ve given you what you want? I gave you your own clothes, I let you do so much that my father would’ve killed me for, and every day you insist on making a fool out of our family.”

That hit hard into Lorian’s heart. Their confidence wavered. “I-I know, but believe me when I say that this isn’t about me. Aida, the real one, the younger one, knows things. About the past,” they pressed, trying to make themselves sound urgent and intelligent and failing at both. God, why had she drunk so much? “She’s been to the past. She’s met Eve.”

Their father motioned for his  wife’s  men.

“No!” They backed away from the approaching threat. “Please, we’ve seen her. Zaahir and Beatrice, they’ve both seen her.”

Zaahir and Beatrice tensed, unsure of when or if to speak up on the burial of a 1,200-year-old queen.

“There’s so much that Aida knows that you need to learn about,” they continued. “It’s why we came here yesterday to talk, yet you attacked us without so much as asking why we were here.”

“Your future selves—”

“Fuck our future selves!” Lorian shouted. “They aren’t us! Not now! I’m here, and I need you to hear me out for once.”

“Wait until you’re sober. I can smell the  honey on your breath from here.”

“Father, I think you should listen to them,” Beatrice said, but their father held up a hand, silencing everyone in the room.

“Keep her in her room for the time being,” he ordered. “I need to begin organizing the guest list and the cooks. Do not let her out until the eve of the ceremony. I don’t need her causing another mess like last time.”

“Father!”

The officers grabbed them, their one chance at persuading their father to finally listen to them not as an heir or even his own child, but as a person who needed their true voice heard.

The double doors shut before they got another word in.


	32. En Tempore Rose

Thank the Gods she’d brought the Constable into the past. Instead of hitting solid Earth, Aida fell atop him and cushioned her fall. His harsh “oof” made her all too giddy at the thought of mildly hurting him.

She rolled off the Constable and held her head until it stopped pounding against her eyes. Usually the jump hurt when she’d come  _ back _ , not when she first landed. This pain wasn’t anything compared to what she’d dealt with that year, but her inner self still hurt, and it wasn’t because of the landing or the fact she’d travelled without her glasses. She sunk her shoulder into the cobblestone until she could focus on something in front of her:  the Colosseum.

They were in its monolithic shadow, cooled and hidden from the summer Sun. They were still in Roma City, in the Colosseum Plaza where Lorian had first reunited with Missus Sharma. Street performers juggled and acted for  passersbys while stores sold their wares. There were just as many people out today as there had been when she was there with Lorian, but there weren’t nearly as many officers in the street. The stores were open around street vendors and people selling trinkets and food in rugs in the street, and dozens of people were at each, sampling free cheeses or examining fine swords.

“It’s a street market,” Aida said.

“What?” The Constable finally righted himself. He, like Aida, had made the jump fully clothed, and he started refolding his undershirt and collar. “Where are we?  _ When _ are we? Where did you take us?”

“I don’t know. I just felt a jump coming on and happened to touch you when I did it.”

“You  _ kicked _ at  me, you did it entirely on purpose!”

“I  can sometimes control it . Look, it’s complicated. I’m learning just as fast as you are.”

“Well, this was a poorly thought-out decision from you. You should learn to be more thoughtful when it comes to your powers. You don’t even know what effect it has on people who don’t normally do this.”

“Well, I don’t  _ normally _ do this, so I don’t know unless it happens. And don’t call me stupid.”

“I didn’t.”

“You implied it. I might be a Visatorre, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid off the bat.”

“I didn’t—” He groaned. “Look, I know you’re in a precarious situation at the moment, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like this. I am a Constable, the right-hand man to the queen.”

“Oh, wow. That totally changes my opinion of you.”

“Look here—”

“I  _ am _ .” She stood her full height against him, her cane digging into the earth. “I have been for twenty-four goddamn years. That king you love so much hasn’t done shit for either me  _ or _ Lorian, nor does the queen. You attacked us and separated us when we have nothing to do with what our future selves do. You called Lorian by their old name, you tackled me to the ground. You aren’t helping us with all this shit we don’t understand, you’re just following the king’s orders like a scent hound under their master’s command. So excuse me if I don’t trust or think highly of you, because from where I stand, you’re nothing but all the people in my life who’ve hurt me for the mere reason that I have this fucking mark on my head.”

Her headache panged so hard that she doubled over. It radiated from her eyes down her neck, burning up her head and all of her thoughts.

Tired and brittle from nerves, all she wanted to do was yell at this stupid man for everything she was angry about. His stupid rhetoric, his stupid mustache. She had half a mind to step on his foot just because she could.

As she fought through throwing up, she saw the Constable reach out his hand to her.

She slapped it down. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’ll need to if I’m to get back home.”

“If I were as terrible a person as you, I’d leave you here to waste away in a timeless space vacuum.” She strode off, not caring what she wanted or needed to see, and headed towards the  Co losseum. Maybe she could catch an opera and ride out this unfortunate time with the Constable in peace.

He jogged up behind her. He looked so vulnerable without his hat and jacket. No way was Aida to return his jacket that was still over her shoulders. That and his rapier were hers and Lorian’s.

“I apologize for my previous actions against you. I was truly only working underneath His Majesty’s orders, so it wasn’t as though I could go against—”

“Oh, fuck off. Don’t try to understand where I’m coming from just because I’m your ticket out of here. You’re a coward. Get fucked.”

He stayed quiet but continued following her. Aida wanted to look back and yell at him some more, really tell him off and accuse him of being a shitty man, but she didn’t have it in her anymore. He’d ruined so much of what she’d been working for that she didn’t care to try to change him anymore.

Nobody looked over their way, and when Aida tried waving at someone to get their attention, they looked through her and kept on their way. She relaxed knowing that she could safely ride out her frustrations with only the Constable as her witness. She needed a date to know where she was in the timeline. The people dressed almost too modernly.

She walked up to the Colosseum and looked for a way in. The front doors had been closed, but on the advertisement board showcased posters about an upcoming show. They were painted dark with the motifs of roses and clocks bordered by a red, scaly tail.

Aida read the title of the opera and bit her lip.  _ En _ _ Tempore Rose. _

Finally, the one good thing to happen during a jump. After dealing with the Constable for however many more hours they’d be stuck here, at least she’d have the joy of watching a rehearsal or even the live show of her dreams.

She jogged up the steps and tried for the handle only for her hands to slip around it like it was coated in oil. She turned around, searching for someone to come up and open it for her.

A crowd of highly dignified people took their time coming up the steps. One woman  carried a parasol  for the Sun , and the men were dressed in their formal  attire of red and black suits.

A little  Visatorre girl no more than eight was with them. She was dressed in a brown dress and went just below her knees and had her hair done in two outrageous braids she must’ve done herself. Her glasses were too big for her face and kept falling off of her little button nose, and she had a cute little bandage over her skinned elbow.

The Constable, who’d  looking at a passing officer, ran up the steps,  his eyes set on the girl.  “ What is happening? ”

Aida’s heart skipped a beat, but not in a gentle, giddy sort of way. She was looking deadest into a mirror, and she only just then realized that this little one was her. She’d mentally erased most of her childhood. She’d never thought it’d hit her so soon.

With her heart cracking, Aida quickly searched the moving crowds for her mother. This must’ve been when she and her family had come to Roma City to sell their milk and eggs and hide. If her mother found out, if she found Aida getting into trouble…

Little Aida was smart. She’d been waiting for a family of wealth to come by. When she had her target, she ran up against their dresses, making herself as small as possible. She even maneuvered around the ladies’ dresses so she wasn’t seen by officers. She had a plan.

At such a big group, the officers preemptively opened the doors, and as the people showed their tickets, Little Aida slipped her way through the Colosseum doors.

Aida lost her voice. She couldn’t warn the little one about how much trouble this would lead her to. She didn’t remember when or where, but she remembered the feeling, the fear. She wondered if seeing the Colosseum was ever worth the sacrifice.

“Come on,” the Constable said. “Are we meant to follow her? Is this how time travel works?”

Aida backed up. This was it, her one chance to see her favorite play, with the memories of an adult instead of a naive child too curious for her own good.

But she couldn’t do it. Her mother, she’d be looking for her. Not now—she probably hadn’t realized Aida was gone until she needed her help with a chore neither her nor her other daughters wanted part in. When she’d find out, her mother would drag her out by the collar of her dress and beat her.

She shut her eyes. She couldn’t bear it, not when she couldn’t do anything to stop what would always happen.

The Constable turned back. The crowd kept flowing inside and took him in like a bobber against the current. “What’s the matter with you? Hey!”

Aida shook her head as she backed up more and more. She should’ve been smarter. She was a child, lost in the wild fascinations of a show she’d wanted to see for years, but she should’ve known better all the same.

The officers began closing the door. The Constable called for Aida and tried to fight his way back out, but Aida was too afraid to move. Her brain told her that she didn’t need anything in this place.

The double doors shut, separating them.

The direness of her actions hit seconds too late. She could barely control her jumps right now, and she couldn’t do it well when she was this afraid or upset. If she were to go back to the carriage, the Constable would be trapped as a ghost in this world forever and, despite hating him, she couldn’t leave him here to die.

“Wait.” She tried for the door. “Hey, Carmine!”

He didn’t answer. The doors were too thick, she couldn’t even hear the sound of the possibly hundreds of people gathering for the performance.

Panicking, she stumbled back down the steps and looked up at the  Co losseum. There were nearly a dozen other entrances to this place. Scaling to the first set of archways was out of the question, though with a fitter, stronger person, it might've been possible.

She walked the perimeter of the Colosseum, a sense of déjà vu guiding her. Some parts were still barred by fences or chains, and some areas had more officers patrolling than what seemed necessary. A few walked through the woods, others walked too close to the edge of the higher archways. Those ones had crossbows at the ready like hunters.

If Aida had been visible, she would’ve been dead by now.

She came up to the side entrance where Frederico had entered in the past. These doors were just as approachable as the main gates but on nearly the entire other side of the Colosseum. A singular carriage was parked by the tree line, and bored officers were playing cards on the steps. Their swords were unfastened from their belts. One even had his boots off, much to the dismay of his other comrades. They poked fun at him for the smell.

“Should be over soon,” one of them said. “Intermission’s coming.”

“They see the opera so often, I’m surprised they don’t have a personal performance at the palace.”

Aida listened from behind a broken column.

“Wouldn’t be the theater if there wasn’t an  audience.”

“Maybe you should play the  princess, then !” one  officer jeered , and tossed  his shoes at the  other  officer.

Aida ducked her head through the open  door into the Colosseum.

Perhaps it was how much she’d researched the architectural feat, or perhaps it was from Eve and her bloody execution, but just stepping foot into this place felt oddly surreal. Her temperature dropped and ears fuzzed up. Thousands of people had been massacred here, and hundreds had been tortured, beaten, torn apart by lions for the amusement of the sickened hearts who found such bloodshed entertaining. She knew that underneath these polished floors lived the disgraced skeletons of those  Visatorre being used as morbid decorations. They were a reminder to a horrible past, where Eve had been buried a millennium too late.

She held her stomach, feeling sick with herself. A hollowness ate into her broken bones as she travelled  deeper into the building. She hated how much of history was drenched in innocent blood. It made her rethink her profession. What good was a historian if they couldn’t fix all the monuments and landmarks that marked the dead? She needed to do more. For them. For what Eve  had fought so hard for only to lose it in a single night.

Someone ran down the dark hall, and through her memories of being chased, hunted, she flinched. An officer, her mother, Eve, a skeleton from the past ready to kill her for being alive when they couldn’t be.

The Constable stumbled back, a hand on his rapier. “Good God, you frightened me,” he said, exasperated. “No one in this damn building can see me. It’s like I’m invisible. Even my hands seem to go through them.”

Aida caught her breath. A scowl returned to her tense face. “That’s because you  _ are _ invisible.”  She fanned out her dress collar, trying to regain her composure. She was safe here. So long as she was in the past, she wouldn’t get hurt.

“Is this how it always is when you travel? This…cold? I feel so off here.”

“That’s something you get used to. Consider yourself lucky you’re not stark naked, or that you’re going to jump back without a bloody nose or a broken spine.”

“It’s not like I take pleasure in the fact that Visatorre suffer from their jumps.”

“Sure.” She started walking.

He followed. “Are you alright?”

“Splendid.”

“Because you seemed afraid of coming in here. Do you have memories of this place?”

“You’d be afraid too if you were a  Visatorre .”

“What does that mean?”

“ Visatorre aren’t allowed in  the theater.”

“What’re you talking about? Of course they are.”

Aida rolled her eyes. “You really don’t know shit about  Visatorre people, do you?”

“I know there are no laws preventing them from seeing and performing in the theater.”

“Yeah, but there’re unspoken rules about ‘certain people disrupting the quality of the show’, so showrunners and directors don’t sell or offer opportunities to  Visatorre . Are you really that daft about the goings-on of your own country?”

“I'm not. I’m sure that I’ve seen  Visatorre in the theater before. I’m sure…” He looked into the wall.

“ Visatorre face more oppression than you care to admit,” she told him. “Just because it doesn’t affect you or your circle of friends doesn’t mean it isn’t still happening.”

They continued walking in silence towards what she believed to be the main arena. The walls vibrated from the sounds outside. They were getting close to the center .

“I  still d on’t think we should stay so far apart,” the Constable squeezed  in. “I know you hate me, but  this’s all very new to me.”

Aida continued ahead.

“If I can do anything to  make things —”

“Last time I checked, you didn’t help me when I was unfairly taken away from my dream school and you didn’t help Lorian when they’d been struggling to stay alive in the palace.”

An actual stab of pain struck the Constable’s face. He opened his mouth to protest her, then closed it and chewed on his inner cheek. He actually looked upset, like he wasn’t aware of exactly what he was  doing. She didn't know if that was meant as a gain for her.

Why was she so careful about hurting his feelings? He’d made her and Lorian’s  lives shitty from taking everything they wanted from them.  She should’ve left him in the past for a few years before even thinking about saving him.

The Constable suddenly jerked to a stop, eyes wide like he’d just seen a ghost. His hand went to his rapier as he looked behind and above him.

“What?” Aida asked.

He ran up ahead and peered around the corner. His hands were trembling now. “Is there any way to change time?” he asked. “Can you do it? Can you change things that happen now so they don’t happen in the future?”

“Uh, I don’t think so any—”

And he left.

“Hey!” She  gave chase . “I was talking to you!”

He didn’t stop. He was on a mission, slipping on the carpet as he made his way around the tight corner. It looked like he somewhat knew where he was going, double-taking each four-way intersection before choosing the right or wrong path. Wherever he was going, they were moving farther away from the thrumming of the theater.

What Aida first heard was a girl, then a girl crying, or pretending not to cry, covering her mouth so as not to be so obvious about her pain. Aida first thought it was her little self, but this person sounded more mature with her sorrow.

Turning their last corner, Aida bumped into her frozen Constable. They were at a dead end, the hall lit only by a single sconce about to flicker out. Two young people sat on a low bench beneath a painting of a Roman field, holding each other close.

Young Carmine looked better without  his full mustache. He  seemed to be grow ing  it out, poor soul, but it wasn’t doing him any favors to look older than what he was. His hair was longer, too, tied in a ponytail that ran down his  back, and he wore an officer uniform  without any honorary medals .

The girl he was with had the longest blond hair Aida had ever seen. It hit the bench and flowed down to her high heels. It—she—looked like royalty.

Aida’s Constable touched his heart, almost in a bow.

“Oh, shit,” Aida said, realizing a second too late what they’d stumbled into.

Young Carmine took out  a handkerchief and patted Young Queen  Rosalia’s cheek. She might’ve been able to do it herself if not for the bruise forming  over her delicate wrist. It swelled purple and blue from an injury.

“It’s nothing, really,” Young  Rosalia whispered. “We should get back.”

“You needn’t worry about Durante right now. I’ll take care of him.” Young Carmine wrapped the handkerchief around her wrist. “Does that feel any better?”

“It does, yes.” She dropped her head against his shoulder. “You’re too kind to me, Carmello. I can’t ever repay you for how much you care for me.”

“When have I ever stopped, Your Highness?”

She chuckled weakly. “That title no longer applies to me.”

“It does when I’m with you.”

Real Carmine, Aida’s Carmine, broke from his spell and put a hand in front of Aida. “W-we need to leave, now.”

“Uh, no ? ” Aida said. “What’s going on here?”

He could only shake his head, now a little breathless from the scene before them. He still hadn’t looked away from  Rosalia .

Young  Rosalia flinched from a pulse of pain. Both Real Carmine and Young Carmine  flinched as well , but his younger self  helped the most. He placed the gentlest kiss against her wrist, leaving a trail up and down her fingers.

Young  Rosalia sniffled. “I don’t know why he was so angry with me,” she cried. “I tried so hard to keep everyone happy this morning, but  the moment I’m overcome by the beauty of the theater is when he grasps  me. He said I was being rude by ignoring him.”

“ I should’ve been there to intervene .”

“You were busy with Bea and Lucia. I don’t fault you for  not being in two places at once .”

Turning over Rosalia’s hand, Young Carmine licked the center of her wrist.

“ Carmello , we can’t. This isn’t like back in my study . ”

“Rosie, I can’t see you getting hurt by  him any longer.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, no more of that, please.” He touched her chin. “Have you sought the option of divorce? I’ve done the research. If he’s abusing you and you are the leading heir—”

She was already shaking her head. “The  public’s already polarized about  my fragility. If I  go through a  divorce, they’ll see me as weak. My advisors have already warned me about going through with this. And I can’t do that to poor Lucia and Beatrice, they’re already going through so much right now. This is fine.” She held him with her good hand. “ _ This _ is all I need.”

Young Carmine  reached up to the side of Young  Rosalia’s face, to which she nestled into  it  like a baby bird. His fingers played with the hidden locks he found next to her ear and neck.  He brought her in closer. She fluttered her eyes closed.

Aida’s Constable physically pushed her and himself away.

“Hey!”

“I can’t do this,” he muttered to himself. “We need to leave.”

Aida tried to protest, but he was stronger than she was. Turning her head, she caught sight of the couple hand in hand, their faces close enough to kiss but not.

Catching up with the Constable was harder now that he was trying to distance himself from his own past. Questions and jabs at his own hypocrisy about following the rules came bitterly to Aida’s tongue, but she held back. This was his first jump, so not only was his brain being scrambled, he and she had just witnessed something that probably was never meant to be known outside of that hallway.

She pushed herself to walk side by side with him. She’d never seen a love displayed so  softly before. Not even Eve held Queen Julia with as much care. W hile she didn’t know what to say about  that , this quietness was annoying her.

Figuring this was the best she could give him, she said, “I  ain’t gonna squeal about what I just  saw .”

He lowered his head in shame.

“Truly,” she promised. “I won’t. What you do behind closed bedroom doors is not my business.”

“I… I can’t find a way to justify what we saw.”

“She’s your queen,” she said with a shrug, “and she’s gorgeous. I’d understand why you did what you did. But, Gods, if the king found out you were  fadoodling his wife, he’d hang you  so fast.”

“Please, ” he begged. “ I cannot ask you not to tell anyone about this, but if I can ask you one thing, I ask that you not tell Lorian about this. I want her—them—to trust me, and if they know that this’s happening, it’ll put more burdens on both them and Ro—the Queen.”

Aida studied his pleading, embarrassed face. Out of everything she was interested in right now, the Constable’s love life, no matter how messy, was at the bottom of the fucking  list.

“Please don’t see me in a bad light,” he said. “I am  truly trying to do what’s best, and I don’t want the doom the crown because almost all of the people living there mean the world to me. ”

“Hold on a second,  do you actually think I’m trying to doom the crown? Is that what you think I’ve been doing this entire time? All I’m trying to do is tell the truth, the  _ honest _ truth of a history your rulers seem ed  to have erased.”

“Well, how am I supposed to read your mind? Your future self has given me no hints to her plans, just that she plans on making a fool out of me in every instance. And that she’s planning big things for you, and that she’s excited about what’s to come, whatever that means. I try to pay her no mind when she speaks.”

She didn’t know how she felt about her future self speaking for her to people she still didn’t trust, but she couldn’t imagine how much strife she’d put him through.

That eased her spirit some.

“I saw your grades at Durante  Academy,” the Constable continued, “a nd all the hard work you’re putting into this mission of yours. You would make a fantastic historian.”

A piece of dust flew into Aida’s eye, making her blink back forcefully. “Then why did you take it away from me?”

“I had my orders.”

“So I was right. I was only taken off of the scholarship because of who I was, not because my grades were lacking or my determination was misplaced.”

Him not meeting her eyes told her everything she needed to know. She did know it, deep down, that that was the reason, she’d just never expected it to be confirmed.

“I’m not going to say that me trying to catch your future self suddenly changed my perspective on social justice or what have you. I’m just saying that…seeing the royal family happy is all I want out of my life.  Beatrice and Lorian , and the Queen…” He held his heart. “I’ve never seen Lorian so protective over anyone  but you. And knowing they’re  becoming that future self , I can’t describe it, but they seem filled with purpose. Back in the palace, they’d stay in their room for days, eating alone, lashing out, refusing to act on what  they wanted. I believe you changed them for the better, and I don’t know how much you’ll believe me, but I’m grateful for you  giving them a future .”

Aida racked her brain to figure out when she’d changed them and if she’d been doing that on purpose. It came naturally, just like their first interaction at Durante Academy where they spent hours together in Aida’s dorm, talking about Eve. She’d talked  _ at  _ them, spilling forth all she knew about Eve because no one had ever listened to her while keeping eye contact. They’d cared about what she was saying.

What was the Constable talking about? She hadn’t done anything. It was Lorian. Lorian had permanently broken her barriers and allowed her to enjoy living.

They made it to the loudest part of the Colosseum. She heard the individual string instruments and drums playing the soundtrack. It was ramping up. Someone was giving a speech.

“This door wasn’t open before,” the Constable said. They’d come to two double doors that led into the main auditorium near the orchestra pit.

She could hardly tell she was in the center of the open Colosseum. Historical art was an important structure for Roma. It amassed its tourism and boasted its wars and the riches it won. And Romans, in a broad sense, were known for their hedonism. Their parties were wild, their sex lives sporadic. And the art they relished in had to be up to their high standards.

So, for grand theatrical productions, the monarchy reconstructed the Colosseum into a theater. They hung up special tiling to allow performances to play in any weather and to control the lighting. The center stadium transformed into a half-circle stage draped with curtains and levels for the performers to invent into worlds at their will. The royal seating, seats for the wealthiest spectators, were in boxes  constructed high above. Five stories high, these seats, furnished with sofas and elegant red curtains laced in gold, let the richest of the rich enjoy the art from above like true Gods.

The theater was filled to capacity, hundreds of seats hosting eyes all drawn to the stage. The ballerinas were poised around a fake yet beautiful crystal lake, sitting beautifully yet arched in a way that told you they’d practiced it for days to perfect. Neither Pinnacle nor the Dragon nor even the Goddess were on stage. Black smoke was settling around the hidden nooks of the lifelike ferns and hanging crescent moon. This must’ve been somewhere during the intermission, when the Goddess had been struck by the tooth of the dragon and all of nature weeps. The ballerinas were meant to be the lily of the valleys and the dewdrops of the morning, dressed in delicate whites and pearls.

The stage drew Aida in. All she saw, all she heard, came from the stage, from these characters she loved to get lost in. The world could’ve been ending tomorrow by her own hands and it wouldn’t have mattered. At this moment, all she had was her Pinnacle and his Isle, and his fantastical  journey  he’d created for himself.

The curtains fell, and a short murmur spread throughout the crowd. They sat up and talked amongst themselves as they went to get more food. Aida sat down in the aisle next to the first row of seats. She smoothed down her dress, taking in the front row seat she’d never get to have again. The orchestra wasn’t as loud as she’d imagined. The seats felt firmer than they looked.

“Wow.”

The little girl’s exclaimed breath was barely audible, but Aida heard it. She hadn’t even noticed the two figures hiding  next to her . They’d made themselves small so they wouldn’t  be noticed , but the audience nearest them had. The women had fans to their mouths, whispering to their company about the two lost children.

Little Aida was holding  the hand of a blond-haired  child. Together, they  watched the stage with stars in their eyes. Their childlike joy—the dropped jaws, them leaning in to watch at a better angle—was too  pure for Aida’s heart .

“That was  _ incredible _ ,” the blond-haired one whispered. They wore their long hair down and were wearing a white dress with yellow highlights around their chest and puffy sleeves. While it was hard for Aida to see herself as a child, she knew Lorian’s lisp and facial features anywhere, even as a little one. “That boy was fantastic. I’ve seen Pinnacle be played by many men, but that one was the best. He looked like a real gladiator.”

“He looked just like you,” Little Aida whispered back. “Was he your brother?”

“I haven’t a brother, but the Goddess looked just like you. You have the same braids.” They picked up one of Little Aida’s braids and played with the end between their fingers. “They’re really pretty.”

“Thanks, but where’d they go? Where is everyone?”

“I believe it’s intermission. Do you wish to give chase?”

“Yeah! But…” Little Aida looked up at the balcony boxes. “You said your family’s up there.”

“They are, but they don’t care about me, so it’s fine.”

Aida looked up for herself. Little Lorian had said that too matter-of-factly and without a hint of sorrow. To think a child thought their family didn’t care for them at such a young age.

“Mine don’t, either,” Little Aida said easily. “I snuck in here without them knowing.”

“Did you really?” Little Lorian’s smile doubled. They were missing a front tooth. “That’s so cool.”

Little Aida returned their beam. “ Thanks. “What’s y our name,  by the way ?”

“It’s a long name, but you can call me—”

“No,” Little Aida interrupted. “I like hearing people’s full names. You can tell a lot about a person’s last name. It’s also called a ‘surname’. Did you know that?”

Little Lorian chuckled, then placed an exaggerated hand over their heart. “My name is Lucia Maria  Carolus Durante di Romano.”

Little Aida pieced the name together in her mind. “Maria  Carolus …Wait, Romano? Like the royal family?”

“ Well, m y name is actually Lorian.”

“Oh.  S o, are you a princess?”

They shook their head. They lied as easily as they breathed, even at this age. “No, but I’m  gonna be an officer. No, a prince. Just like Pinnacle.”

“Pinnacle isn’t a prince, he’s an orphan who lost his father to sea, and if you read the books, you find out that he’s actually a god who lost all of his powers and needs to get them back. Have you read the books?”

“Alas, I have not.”

“Whoops.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I will.” She held out her pinkie, and Lorian locked theirs around hers, their fates interwoven.

Aida covered the smile forming on her face. To think she’d forgotten this first meeting with her favorite person, her person, in such a quiet way. No one in her family had cared to listen about her love for her stories. Lorian had been her first. They’d always been her first.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to ask you for your name,” Little Lorian said.

Little Aida sat up proudly. “I’m actually a princess from a faraway island. I can control the wind and read people’s minds. I also own a dragon, just like Pinnacle.”

“Really? That’s impressive. What island do you govern?”

The people around them whispered more. Others kept quiet because that’s what one did at the theater back then.

Little Aida looked up at the decorated ceiling of Gods. “I don’t know. My memories got all fuzzy when I was adopted by a mean dragon, but my real  _ pet  _ dragon’s sleeping right underneath this place, so don’t make me mad, or else I’ll make her eat you.”

“ I ’d love to meet this dragon one day. My sister says dragons aren’t real, but there’re too many stories about them across the world for them not to exist.”

“Your sister sounds like a dummy, just like mine. Where is she? Up there?”

When Little Aida turned back to the play, Little Lorian, staring longingly at her, pulled out their skeleton key from around their neck. It seemed comically large in their small hands. “Do you want to go backstage? This key can open almost any door in the world.”

“ The whole world?”

Little Lorian nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Let’s go now, though, before—”

“Lucia!”

The Constable—not the one she’d come with,  the other —came down the stairwell leading to the balcony boxes. He was out of breath and had a noticeable blush still on his face from his time with Young  Rosalia .

The Constable she’d come with, who’d been watching over them from the shadows, turned at his younger self’s voice.

“Lucia Romano, you come here right now!” he said. He grabbed hold of Little Lorian’s hand and brought them to their feet. “Your father said not to leave his side.”

“No!” They gave Aida a pitiful look and reached out for her. Little Aida did the same, desperate to keep hold of her first and only friend.

“Aida!”

The anger of her mother’s voice choked up both  Aidas . While Young Carmine sounded no more than a young adult trying hard to command authority, her mother, who was bounding into the auditorium with two officers, knew how to wring out and ruin a young child’s heart.

Young Carmine gave Aida’s mother a short bow before hauling Lorian back up the stairs to their family.

“No!” They screamed, causing a scene that would’ve surely gotten them in trouble, but Aida, as well as Little Aida, stared in horror as their mother came for them.

“You come here!”

“She must’ve snuck in,” one of the officers said.

“She does that, always getting into places she doesn’t belong.  _ Come here _ .”

The whispered threat sent both  Aidas up. She could almost defend herself now, but as a child, without the knowledge that such punishments weren’t meant to happen…

She followed her mother and little self out of the Colosseum. She was a different type of Visatorre. Perhaps, if she willed herself, she could finally change the timeline.

She grabbed hold of her mother’s tense shoulder, trying to get her to stop. “Stop!”

The Constable followed closely behind her. “Is this your mother?”

“Stop!” Aida repeated.

Her mother brought  Little Aida outside and around the corner near the fences, away from curious Roman eyes.

“Ow!” Little Aida tried prying herself away. “Mo’mma, that hurts!”

Aida tried for her. Her fingers slipped in and out of theirs, her ghostly presence just that. She wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to figure out how to be visible during the only times it mattered.

“You could’ve gotten me fined for that. Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

Little Aida wailed at being tied to such a mother.

“When I tell you to stay by the carriage, you stay by the—Listen to me!”

“Stop it!” Aida wailed, but her mother raised her hand.

This woman knew how to give her beatings quietly so as not to cause any alarm. She hit Aida’s cheeks and temple, her back and arm. Slaps gave away the abuse, so she resorted to punching. It was her signature.

Little Aida  knew not to cry out . Crying during the pain gained her another punishment even worse than the first, behind closed doors so neither of them had to worry about being loud.

Aida turned away and covered her ears.

“What is…” The Constable looked to the real Aida. “Why is she doing that?”

She didn’t know. She never,  _ ever  _ knew what justified a mother to hit her own child, even if they were the loudest, brattiest child. It wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense.

The Constable turned back to Aida’s mother. “Stop it.”

Her mother continued her beatings.

“I command you!” He ran at her and forced his hands upon her, trying to break them apart.  “Stop it! She’s but a child!”

It was like a ghost trying to intervene with their own killer. Aida couldn’t find the voice to tell him it was in vain. At one point, he even cast a glance at the rapier sheathed at his side. If only he could’ve stabbed her mother through the heart, then she could’ve felt a fraction of the pain she’d caused Aida for so many years.

When her mother was done, Little Aida was on the ground, quietly sobbing as she covered her head. Her cheeks were swollen and her nose was  bleeding. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking.

Her mother huffed and wiped her hands on her smock. “Come with me,” she ordered, “and stop acting so stupid.”

Little Aida hid her entire face in her arms as she was led back to the family that didn’t want her.

For the first time in her life, Aida thanked Circa for tampering with her lack of memory. It helped to mask the pain she wished to forget, but now, reliving it secondhand, she would’ve preferred bleeding in the brain. Anything more than these resurfacing feelings. Anything more than the truth about her past.

Someone touched her shoulders. She flinched again, hands up to defend herself.

The Constable stepped back. His look of questioning concern about being in the past had turned to abject horror at the situation.

“Please,” she said, feeling pathetic that she had to resort to begging. “Don’t bring me back to her. I’ll do anything. I’ll take jail time, I’ll take time in the Colosseum, old-fashioned style.”

“ Aida —”

“I’d rather die.” A hundred hurtful thoughts hit her at once. She sobbed. “I’d rather die than be a part of this timeline. Without Lorian, I can’t do anything by myself. I’m nothing. Without them…”

The Constable touched her again. An older person’s hands didn’t feel right on her body.

“I want Lorian back,” she cried. “I want them back by my side. Please, I don’t want to be alone again.”

The declaration  hurt as painfully as her memories , but it was true. She was  a  lonely girl and had been lonely for so many years.  She had to cram her  young l ife with  pages of someone else’s story to feel a part  of life, but Lorian had come in, and together, the two had  cowritten written series. Adventures and  romance and horror and mystery, bringing her into the most real version of herself.

She couldn’t let all those words disappear. It was their story to give to the world.

The Constable looked down in thought, his hands still on Aida’s shoulders.

“You want to see the good in Roma,” Aida said. “Do you seriously think bringing Lorian back to the palace is going to fix anything? Do you honestly think we’d stay separated? O ur future selves are married, Carmine, fighting to keep history the way it's supposed to be in their own chaotic ways. It’s true that I don’t know the ins and outs of it, and maybe I don’t understand everything that my future self is planning, but I know where I need to be and what I need to do. Help me help Roma, Carmine. Help the people you love, and above all else, if not me, help Lorian, because I know you care for them like their own father.”

The last word broke through the layer of uncertainty they shared as rivals. It sparked his true intention to see Lorian safe, and happy, and he knew that it wasn’t at the palace.

He got up, fixed  the cuffs of the undershirt that was still dirty from their scuffle in the woods.

He gave her his hand to take. “You and that future self of yours are going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

She smirked. “You know it.”


End file.
